


Novacane

by stuckinabottle



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dick Pics, Famous Zayn, Fluff and Smut, Insecure Zayn, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Non-Famous Harry, Semi-Public Sex, Switching, Time Skips, X-Factor - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-19
Updated: 2014-10-19
Packaged: 2018-02-18 13:32:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2350163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stuckinabottle/pseuds/stuckinabottle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by this <a href="http://zaynmalkin.tumblr.com/post/82961698134/x">gifset</a>. X-factor runner up Zayn Malik is an up and coming R&B star with a rapidly growing fanbase. Harry Styles, X-factor failure, is one of his biggest fans, shows up to all the meet&greets and all his performances. Harry proposes at one of Zayn's meet&greets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Novacane

**Author's Note:**

  * For [strzyga](https://archiveofourown.org/users/strzyga/gifts).



> The title is taken from the Frank Ocean song "Novacane", but the fic is quite fluffy, no worries. Well, as fluffy as my writing can get.  
> The fic is vaguely multimedia, with text message screen shots. There are some **nsfw **images.****
> 
> I'd like to thank my two lovely betas, who shall not be named yet! But they are the best and I love them. :)

... 

The first time they meet, Zayn had been sitting quietly, keeping to himself. He’s so nervous, his stomach is turning around and around like one of those spinning wheels that Wahliya’s dumb pet hamster runs on. His knee is shaking so much that the girl sitting next to him moved a few chairs over after giving him a dirty glare. His stomach is a hive, buzzing and threatening to release its fury into the room. Perhaps it would be for the best. He might even feel better after. Zayn looks around him at the other contestants. Everyone else seems so much cooler than him, more comfortable in their skin, better dressed, and likely they are more talented. He holds his face in his hands. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, he thinks. He’s made it past the first week of bootcamp. But he can’t possibly go too much further, right?

 

Suddenly, there’s a warm hand on his shoulder and a cheery voice in his ear saying, “Hiya. You okay? I’m Harry, what’s your name?” Zayn looks up and is startled at how close the boy is to him. If he leaned forward just an inch or so their lips would be brushing against each other. Zayn shivers.

 

“Zain,” he manages after a beat. He swallows the lump in his throat and the other boy, no, Harry smiles at him. Zayn straightens up in his seat a bit. He’s got these warm green eyes and Zayn can’t stop looking at them. They are the color of the sea glass his grandmum once gave him, the same as one of his auntie’s shalwar kameez. Harry starts talking, his speech is slow but measured and he somehow manages to say a lot. About how he got onto the X-factor. About his family, his mum, Robin, and his older sister Gemma. It takes the edge off, thinks Zayn. Plus the boy has got these amazing curls framing his face. Zayn wants to reach out and touch one but refrains from doing so. That would be weird. But all he’s ever known is his boring hair that sticks up in the morning and gets dents when he lays on his side when it’s wet. And his lips remind Zayn of the first girl he kissed when he was nine, standing on a brick. It’s weird, he hasn’t thought about her in a while. Her lips had been stained pink from this strawberry lollipop she had been sucking on that afternoon.

 

“Anyways, what about you? What kind of singer do you want to be?” Harry grins. Zayn has hardly been paying attention to what the other boy was saying. Too enamored by the movement of his lips and his ever present smile and the way his nose wiggles when he laughs at his own poorly told jokes. In this moment, Zayn thinks he has never met anyone as intriguing as Harry. He's charismatic but sensitive, beautiful in a way that Zayn didn't know sixteen year old boys could be. 

 

“Oh, I...I’m thinking R&B, or something. You know,” Zayn shrugs. His shoulders feel a little lighter than they did earlier. His mum says he should share more with other people and that they’d have to be stupid not to love him. He’s not so sure. He has hardly told Harry a thing about himself, but the boy seems to enjoy talking to him. Or at him. Zayn is wary. The other boy sort of reminds him of the rich white kids at school who have the tendency to be rather nasty. But Harry is sort of different. He talks super slowly and his voice is surprisingly deep. He has this fairly silly looking scarf wrapped around his neck a few times, rolling the ends of it between his fingers. He seems genuinely concerned about Zayn and his life and his current state of mind. Zayn wonders if it is some sort of ploy to like throw off his competition. But Harry seems much too sincere for that. 

 

“That’s so perfect. You could totally be an R&B singer. I can see it right now, Zain Malik. Sounds like a proper star name to me . Anyways, me I’m more of an indie sort of person I think. But like regular pop stuff is alright as well.” Harry's gesticulating, pulling things from the air into his fingers and brushing at his long hair. Zayn is amazed he can even understand what the boy is saying, his attention is so rapt just on Harry's physicality and presence. 

 

“Cool, I feel you,” Zayn replies eventually. He throws Harry an easy smile. It seems effortless, the energy rolling off the other boy. His smile alone could probably power an entire city. It’s bright and cheery and Zayn thinks he is everything that Zayn is not. He seems like a proper pop star already. Photogenic, friendly and Zayn imagines he's a hit with the ladies, with his cheeky grin and all. Harry chatters aimlessly about the weather, which has been nasty as of late, his home town, which Zayn learns is called Holmes Chapel, and his elder sister Gemma who is about to take her A-levels.

 

Zayn talks a bit about his family. And how his dog ran away a month ago but came back. And how he’s tired of his schoolmates and wants to get out of Bradford. How he even got into singing in the first place. Harry nods thoughtfully. It’s definitely the most Zayn has said since he first auditioned for the show. He’s certainly not as quick at making friends as some of the other contestants are.

 

“Don’t be nervous for your next song,” Harry says, “The way I see it, it’s just another important experience. You know, character building.” Zayn thinks that Harry doesn’t half believe what his saying. His brow is furrowed slightly as he said some more encouraging words. 

 

“Who told you that, your mother?” Zayn asks. Harry’s face falls a little bit. But only for a moment, he recovers just as quickly and throws his head back to laugh. It’s bubbly and Zayn feels himself wanting to laugh as well. He does and it’s like a bubble of tension releases in his chest. He relaxes into his chair as much as he can. The plastic thing is not at all ergonomic.  

 

“Well,” Harry begins, slinging a familiar arm around Zayn, “Good luck to the both of us!”

 

…

 

Three years later…

  
Sometimes when Zayn thinks about it, he still can’t believe he lost the X-Factor to Liam Payne. They are actually quite friendly now, mostly since they are managed by the same agency. Zayn isn’t bitter about it at all. And he never has been. But it seems like every time he has an interview or even at meet and greets, reporters and fans alike still love to bring it up. “Are you friendly with Liam?” or “I heard you got in a fight with Liam Payne!” or “Are you and Liam secretly dating?”. The latter is certainly a new one. Ever since Zayn came out as bisexual (pansexual would have been too much for mainstream media, too much explaining) he was hit by a shit storm of dating gossip and rumors. Not to mention a few million phone calls from each and every estranged relative he never knew he even had. His parents were mostly alright with it, Trisha a bit more understanding than Yaser. But maybe it was his increasing fame and subsequent separation from the family that irked Yaser the most. Or maybe it was the pap shots and articles. Liam has not been the only purported boyfriend, there’s also been rumors about him and the sound engineer that they share, Niall Horan. Normally, Zayn does not mind it too much. But poor Niall has not been able to catch a break since the rumors first spread.

 

That is why he’s surprised when he’s signing the 100th or thousandth album cover and he hears a breathless, “Will you marry me?”

 

Normally, Zayn says yes over and over again to the constant request for a picture or a short video message, so he says, “Yeah, sure,” before looking up. When he does he can’t say he regrets saying it like he probably should. He is not one to give false hope to people who will not have much of a chance. He’s greeted by these familiar green eyes. It’s Harry. While they hadn’t kept in contact at all after he was booted from the X-factor in week 8, Zayn has always remembered the boy. The way his presence had calmed Zayn's fears. Harry's warm hand on his shoulder was a comfort on many occasions. Plus Zayn is pretty sure he has seen him in the crowd at more than one of his shows before. Harry is kind of distinct in that way. Taller than most, with great curly hair. Right now, the boy’s face is so red it reminds Zayn of the time he and Doniya both got this nasty rash after having a bit of a strop in a bit of poison ivy. Zayn opens his mouth to say something, remembering he’s just been sitting there with a blank expression on his face.

 

“Harry, right?” Zayn supplies before he can stop himself. The boy brightens at this. Zayn thinks he looks sort of like a woodland creature, all eager and excited. Zayn can’t for the life of him remember Harry’s last name though. Harry straightens up and tugs at the bottom of his shirt. The shirt itself has a funky pattern, Zayn would never wear it himself, but it suits Harry. Zayn spies some tattoos peeking out of Harry’s unbuttoned shirt. He looks tall, certainly taller than a few years ago, but Zayn is not the best judge of height and he’s sitting anyways. Harry's face is mostly the same looking, but older and more defined, lost some of its baby fat.

 

“Yes. And I’m so sorry, don’t have a ring on me today. Who’d have thought you’d say yes?” His voice is still the same, all long, open syllables but it is even deeper and smoother than before. Sort of feels like molasses dripping, all hot and almost disgusting.

 

“Not to worry. Of course, I remember you from the X-factor. You were quite good, I couldn't believe that, you, well, you were brilliant,” says Zayn as he signs Harry’s album. He puts a heart next to his name. Force of habit but it feels different. “Why don’t you give me your number, and uh, we can work it out?” It comes out before Zayn can think on it any longer. He could always use more mates, and cute ones at that. Plus they sort of have a history. If you count bopping around on the X-factor, sharing music and whatever. It doesn't help that Zayn used to have a little bit of a crush on him. Harry stares at him, mouth gaping open. His lips are just as pink as they were a few years back.  After a few moments Harry seems to remember himself and quickly scribbles his number down on a scrap of paper. Zayn wonders about the stories behind all the different rings and the cross tattoo on his left hand. He's so absorbed in staring, observing that he almost misses Harry being shoved along in the line as he smiles says something like “good luck” or “I’ll see you on stage”. The rest of the meet and greet passes in a haze.

 

Zayn is lacing up his Doc Martens before the show that night when he remembers Harry is going to be there in the crowd. And that he’s got his phone number. It takes him a few tries to actually get them done up.  Caroline is fussing with the collar on his jacket and all he wants to do is send a text to Harry. He is not even sure why. This isn’t the first time a fit fan has left him his number. And he reckons it will not be the last. In fact Zayn has had his fair share of fan encounters of a sexual nature. Especially in the early days, some groupies were rather persistent and Zayn was not used to so much attention. Or at least such persistent attention. He had always been too shy when he was out and about with Danny and Ant. Usually, he just ended up with the first girl or bloke who started talking to him. It was a product of raging hormones and the awkward puffy nipple stage of his adolescence. Zayn rationalizes that he's known Harry for like nearly four years (sort of), and he did say that he would text the lad as Caroline snaps his fingers to get his attention. Caroline mumbles something under her breath and makes a grab for Zayn's phone. Zayn whips it away at the last second. 

 

Debating for a moment on what to say, he sends a text to Harry.

 

****

 

Zayn is puzzled when he receives the quizzical response. But Caroline is again swatting his phone away and starting to lint roll his jacket. It’s time for his show. After Caroline finishes up, he downs his perfunctory pre-show can of Red Bull. Tastes like piss. It’s a bad habit that he’s picked up. His first few shows, the critics complained about him not having any stage presence. He thinks the Red Bull helps to make him a little less mellow and the more exuberant version of himself. Why else would he drink the crap? Besides the people are here to listen to his music not watch him prance around on stage.

  
Zayn used to get really nervous before shows. Like he had on the X-factor. Knocking knees and stomach rolling. Once he even threw up right before he went on stage. Lucky that he could still even sing properly. Now, he has never cancelled a show, but initially it was a struggle to get up on the stage, even in the smallest venues. The X-factor runner-up wasn’t making it too big back two years ago. But he had amassed a small following, mostly teenage girls who thought he was cute and that they had a chance. To his surprise, it grew over the next year or so. He still recognized some faces here and there. But soon it was like every night he was singing to a thousand new faces he had never seen before and would never again. So yes, Harry’s face was a comfort. Familiar, attractive and had instilled some confidence in him previously.

 

“Oi, Zayn,” says Niall, he’s got about thirty wires wrapped around his torso. He is sweating and wipes his brow with a mass of wires and perhaps his forearm as well under it all. At this point Zayn’s given up on trying to figure out how Niall manages to do anything. “Take a look at these new in ears.”

 

Niall hands Zayn the newly designed in ears. They have got the Irish flag on them. “Umm, thanks Niall? I thought I asked for the rasta ones tho?” says Zayn, turning the in ears over in his hand. He's not on for another twenty minutes or so. But he likes listening to the end of his opening act. Another kid from Bradford trying to make it big. Zayn met her when he was back home once. She was a pretty interesting girl and had a great voice. Went on the X-factor and lost out in one of the earlier rounds. Zayn had met her when he made his guest appearance though. It somehow made him less antsy to see her out there smashing it. 

 

“Course you did. I just thought you could use these ones Zayn,” Niall laughed, “Just kidding, these here are mine. Here are yours.” He smiles and hands Zayn the proper red, yellow and green ones.

 

“Sick, Niall. Thanks. How’s it looking out there? Huge crowd?” Zayn asks. For the most part Zayn can't hardly distinguish people in the crowds now. They're huge and the lights seem brighter, more blinding in the larger venues. The roar though is an entirely different story. It frightens Zayn sometimes when he first gets out on stage. Like a massive ocean wave coming and crashing down onto him when the little stage elevator brings him up to the main stage. Once his in ears are in, it's not too bad. Mostly just his own voice.

 

“Yep. There are some pretty nice looking birds, and haha some fit blokes as well out there, Zayn.” Niall gives him a lascivious grin and winks. Zayn shakes his head. Ever since Niall dyed his hair blonde he seemed to be having much better luck with women. Zayn thinks it might also be because he's been laying on more of the 'Irish charm' or whatever Niall claims is his secret. Niall frowns at him, a rarity, since he typically has such a sunny disposition. “What’s wrong mate? You seem a little jittery tonight.” Zayn shrugs and cracks his neck. 

 

“If it makes you feel any better,” Niall begins, “Payno is here. Says he’s all sad about the break up still. He’s up in the VIP section, I wouldn’t mention it. He keeps making that sad dog face. Anyways, Pressure is on. Time to impress your boyfriend!” Niall cracks up laughing after that. He thinks it is just hilarious that Zayn and Liam are dragged through the press time after time. 

 

“Don’t you have a job to do or something?” Zayn smacks Niall lightly on the arm. Niall’s laughing only increases. It’s nice, thinks Zayn. Niall and Liam being around. It gives him a sense of continuity. A little bit of grounding. They’re all a similar age. And sometimes, if they are just hanging out in Zayn’s penthouse or Liam’s place it feels like they are regular uni age students. Occasionally, Zayn wonders if he would have been happier just being a regular person. A student, most likely studying English or maybe art. Singing only when he was forced to at karaoke or something. Zayn shakes his head, he can’t possibly think like that. He is incredibly grateful for his opportunity. After all he understands there are millions dying to be in his place, like Harry for example.

 

…

 

The show passes quickly. He thinks he spots Harry in the crowd somewhere, but he’s not sure. All the faces sort of blend together after a while, a sea of people who claim to love him and what he stands for and his music. Zayn is coming off the high in his dressing room, when he finally checks his phone again. He feels more like a teenager waiting for a text from his crush than a successful R&B artist who is about to tour in the United States. He’s got like a trillion messages per usual, but one of them is from Harry. Scratch that, five of them are from Harry.

 

 

Zayn smiles to himself, grinned really, like a proper lunatic. Even though he gets a few hundred tweets and texts like this, it seems really special coming from Harry. He debates sending a text back, but does not have the opportunity when Niall and Liam coming rushing into the room. Liam’s got on a massive black hoodie and a beanie and Niall has a girl hanging off his arm already. He's about to ask where Niall has found this one, but refrains. She's got on a t-shirt with his name and face all over it. He gives her a half-hearted wave. Not likely going to happen. She looks like she is about fifteen. 

 

“Celebrate?” Niall asks. “What, it’s like we’re going to ‘merica soon. I can’t bloody drink there, so might as well, right Zayn?”

 

“Umm, yeah sure,” says Zayn, “Where we going?” 

 

“The Funky Buddha, obviously,” Niall chortles, “I’m not sure they’ll let this guy in to any other club.” The girl laughs and Niall gives her a big smooch on the cheek. Liam frowns but doesn’t say anything to deny Niall’s assertion. It’s true. Liam has become quite the regular at the establishment. Zayn used to like going out more, he thinks he did at least. Back when getting free drinks and heated once overs gave him a thrill. But the charm of having loads of people who wanted a piece of you had worn off within the first year of his celebrity. It’s alienating and Zayn knows that no one really wants to know him, Zain Malik from Bradford anymore.

 

They arrive at the club at half past midnight. Liam is in prime form, having guzzled down a bottle of whatever liquor they keep backstage and all the stuff in the limo. He is totally plastered. And thankfully out of his giant sweats and into some of Zayn’s borrowed clothing. Which look seriously much too tight. Liam is in the grieving process still. And probably will be for another two or three months. His on and off secondary school sweetheart finally dumped him for good this time (at least Zayn thinks so). Sophia Smith, an up and coming model. Zayn also thinks it has to do with the fact that Liam is also in the midst of coming out of the closet. He's in that one foot in one foot out sort of stage. Denying rumors about his illicit hook ups with some other guys and gals while on tour. Sophia was not pleased and Zayn was under the belief that they had not properly discussed the terms of their relationship. Shit can happen on tour. All in all Liam has been a proper mess. Zayn is just glad that Liam is not going on another tour for another few months. He estimates Liam’s next album will be fully depressing.

 

It’s pretty crowded already and Zayn reckons it’s only going to get worse once the paps snap a few pictures and people find out Zayn and Liam are at the club. Zayn mosies over to the bar and downs a few shots. They burn going down his throat. He chases them with some girl at the bar’s soda. He hasn’t drank much in a while, but he needs it if he’s going to have to put up with this. The press of foreign bodies and the general dampness that ensues when at a club. He’s about to pull another drink down when he spots something out of the corner of his eye. It’s Liam and he’s got this shorter bloke with longish hair all over him. They are basically about to tear each other’s clothes off. He can see the headlines already, “Payne making Zayn jealous?” with a photo of Liam and the random guy entwined. It doesn't even make sense seeing as Sophia and Liam were photographed out much more frequently than Zayn and Liam. Zayn has given up trying to figure that one out. 

 

Zayn pushes his way through the sweaty dance floor to intercede, but someone beats him. Of course, it turns out to be Harry. He has changed his clothes, got on this black and white polka-dot shirt with his hair messily in a headscarf. It shouldn’t work and Zayn knows it doesn’t, but he’s strangely attracted to the look. This growing need to touch sits in his gut like a lead weight. Zayn keeps his hands pins to his sides. Upon closer inspection the shirt is sheer and see through. Harry’s got his arms wrapped around the shorter guy and he’s whispering something in his ear. Zayn feels sort of forlorn. Like he missed his chance. Maybe that’s why Harry didn’t text back sooner. He’s about to leave but Liam grabs onto him, dead weight. They almost both go down, but Harry’s got a sturdy arm on his back.

 

“Hey,” Zayn manages, mustering a half wave. He probably looks awful, quiff wilting in the oppressive heat in the club. He runs a nervous hand through it, probably mussing it up to look worse. He tries to come off all cool and nonchalant, oh hey just ran into your maybe boyfriend who was hooking up with one of my besties in the club. The four of them stand in a sort of awkward silence for a moment. 

 

“Zayn!” Harry brightens. “You were so great....um, I'm really embarrassed too. I’m terribly sorry about all those texts. It’s just that, well, you know. I couldn’t believe you’d actually text me. It was you right?” His cheeks are flushed, probably from the humidity and heat of the club. And Zayn just wants to talk to him for ages and ages. He feels this sort of inexorable pull towards the boy. Like magnets or something. Zayn is not sure he’s ever felt so in want, no, in need of attention, contact, or conversation.

 

“Yeah, yeah it was me. I meant to text you to like hang out, but I guess we both ended up here anyways. Funny right?” Zayn nearly shouts to be heard over the pulse of the bass. Harry’s face curves into a grin. He squeezes Zayn’s shoulder. His hand is incredibly hot in the already incessant sweatiness of the club. Zayn's shoulder burns in the memory that sparks from Harry's hand on his shoulder. 

 

“Fancy that,” Harry says. Then he seems to remember the sloppy drunk who is practically wrapped around his leg. He laughs. And Zayn wishes that he was the one who produced the near angelic sound. Great, he thinks, waxing poetic already. Harry points with his free hand to the guy who was currently giving Liam the filthiest of winks. There was something strangely familiar about him, he had longish hair and bright blue eyes. “Oh, this here is Louis. He got kicked off the week after me. And will not ever let me live that down. He’s my best mate or something.” Zayn internally sighs. He does recognize Louis now, despite the total change in hair and the amount of scruff on his cheeks. 

 

“I’m sure you remember Liam?” Zayn asks, heaving him up. Harry nods. 

 

“Heya, Harry,” says Liam. “We’ve kept in touch on and off since X-factor.” Zayn is surprised he even managed to follow their conversation. Liam looks like he’s about to be sick. He’s got a sheen of sweat on his forehead and his pallor is greenish in coloration. Liam makes this ridiculous heaving noise and Zayn moves his head from all of their shoes.

 

“Oh, I didn’t know that,” says Zayn. Somehow he always feels sort of out of the loop. Liam is not well enough to make a coherent response, and ends up emitting a kind of gurgling noise. Zayn pats him gently on the shoulder.

 

“Yes,” Harry says, “We yeah. Liam and I bunked in the same room during bootcamp. So yeah, we know each other quite a bit. He looks awful right now, what'd he have to drink?”

 

Zayn fumbles for words, muttering the name of some hard liquors. He is not exactly a scintillating conversationalist when he is sober let alone drunk. It took him a while to get used to people and not coming off standoffish or broody. Harry doesn’t seem to mind though, he keeps smiling and his hand is still gently on Zayn’s shoulder, giving it the occasional squeeze. Zayn’s insides feel warm and gooey. His mum says that when you meet someone you really like you sort of feel like the inside of a half-baked chocolate chip biscuit. He’s not ever related to that until now.

 

“Do you maybe, eh, I mean if you want. Do you wanna crash at mine?” asks Zayn before he knows what he’s said. Zayn’s penthouse is much too large for just him and not very well lived in. He probably only uses two rooms. His bedroom and the game room, which also doubles as a studio. Harry’s eyes widen in shock. Zayn hopes it doesn’t come off as one night standish. A one time proposition.

 

“Uhh, I mean we’re paying for a hotel, so wanna actually use it,” Harry says. He looks a little frantic somehow, trying to support Louis and also converse with his hands.

 

“Course, of course. Yeah.” Zayn feels his stomach drop a little.

 

“Well, I gotta to take care of this guy,” Harry heaves Louis up. Louis mumbles something unintelligible and makes a disgustingly loud belching noise. Harry laughs, patting him on the back. Zayn thinks he might offer to help out, but he can’t think of a way to say it without sounding super desperate or creepy.

 

“Yeah, I should probably get Liam or something to bed,” Zayn mutters. Harry’s got his back to him at this point. “I’ll text you or something,” Zayn calls after him. He doesn’t even know if Harry can hear him.

 

…

 

Zayn’s about to get on the plane to the United States. He’s jumpy. Flying has never been his strong suit. Transatlantic flights were not particularly fun either. They were much too long and the air was always stuffy and made his throat and nose hurt. His phone vibrates in his pocket. He's not sure who it could possibly be, seeing as he has just got off the phone with his mother. 

 

  

Zayn turns his phone off before he receives a response. It’s not like he’s going to be seeing Harry anytime soon. He put his headphones in and tries to get some semblance of sleep on the flight. The next week is filled with tons of promo and interview after interview after interview. It’s quite tiring and Zayn feels like he might come apart at the seams sometimes. He collapses into his plush hotel bed and ironically misses his damned bed from his childhood. The one that was much too small in the Malik’s first cramped home. It was one of those car beds, falling apart a bit around the edges, but still good.

  
When he’s on Good Morning America he briefly wonders if he was meant to do any of this at all. It’s the dating question that always gets him. Are you seeing someone right now? or Have you got someone special in your life in the moment? The answer has always been no. For twenty long years is right. He supposes he never counted certain people. Like Rebecca who he fooled around with on the X-factor. He thinks they played it up for the hype and ratings. His mind briefly flits to Harry. Whose last name he can’t even remember. But it’s silly, isn’t it? Maybe he’ll just have to be set up in one of those celebrity type couples. A proper match to advance his and his partner’s careers. But then again, he knows fame is fickle, maybe he’ll fade out in like three years and be able to have a proper relationship and have a bunch of kiddies or adopted babies. Thinking about it hurts his head, but his mum had Doniya when she was not too much older than him.

 

The interviewer must think him stupid since he’s just sort of sitting in the chair gaping with his mouth hanging wide open. He knows his manager hates him. For all the interview training he’s still total shit at it. Zayn’s not even sure why he’s even allowed on live tele. He is definitely going to sweat through his shirt. Eventually he spits out an answer about how he’s just trying to focus on his career right now and that’s it.

 

He has got a show in NY and a few up the East Coast. The American crowds are quite noisy, despite being roughly the same or smaller than all the ones in the UK. They pass by in a blur. Zayn feels like he doesn't even remember what happens in each show. When he is in Boston, he accidentally says the wrong city name. Luckily, no one seems to get too agitated by this. And the Globe doesn't drag him over it either. Everything in America is too big, there's so much space and not in the way that Zayn likes. He feels like he might be swallowed whole here. It was even worse his first time here, but he still can't shake the feeling of listlessness and instability when he's touring here. Zayn misses Niall. And even Liam and his moping sad faces and ugly crying. The sound guy he has here is this joyless short little man with a whispy beard and a protruding gut. Would not even let Zayn use his new rasta in ears the first show. Said they need to be calibrated especially for his sound system. Zayn just blinks at him. He was not going to win that fight.

 

A few weeks later he is in LA for some promo when he spots someone very familiar out on a random street corner. It looks exactly like Harry but it couldn't possibly be, could it? What's he doing in LA of all places? Zayn adjusts his sunglasses and tugs at his snapback. Luckily he hasn't been recognized too much out here. He figures maybe the people were so used to seeing celebrities that he was just another random one. The anonymity is sort of nice. He makes his approach slowly. The bloke is dressed exactly as Harry would. Well at least what Zayn approximates that is Harry’s aesthetic. Long hair swept into a messy bun. Loose flannel shirt over a white t-shirt. Tight jeans over these mustard yellow boots. And a pair of vintage sunglasses. Zayn reckons Harry looks like more of a celebrity than he ever does. He’s nervous for some reason but it’s a different kind then when he is performing or when he was on the X-factor.

 

"Harry!" he calls out finally. The bloke looks around confused for a moment before he spots Zayn. Harry runs a hair through his hair, which is much longer than last time Zayn saw him. Some bits of it hang lower than his shoulders, while the curls near his forehead are essentially ringlets.

 

“Zayn?” he slides his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose. Zayn’s stomach feels warm as he stares into the familiar green of Harry’s eyes. “Oh my gosh, Zayn, is that really you?” Zayn winces because Harry had raised his voice quite a bit. Zayn was not entirely too famous yet in America, but he has a steady following. And being called out in public would not exactly help his cause. Harry seems to realize this himself and clamps his hands over his mouth. 

 

“Don’t worry about it,” Zayn mutters, waving his hand about haphazardly. Harry pulls him into a hug, folding his arms around Zayn’s body. It’s weird, Zayn is suddenly aware of how much larger Harry is than him. His nose is resting, just barely touching the hollow of Harry’s throat. He inhales deeply, and immediately regrets it. Harry smells so good. Like honeysuckle and sunshine and freshly mowed grass. Zayn feels cold when he pulls back. Harry's grinning at him like a mad man and Zayn can see his reflection in Harry's sun glasses. 

 

“So, what are you even doing in LA, Harry?” Zayn asks as they begin walking down the street. The sun feels hotter than it did before, beating down on the back of Zayn’s neck.

 

“Oh, me,” Harry flushes, Zayn wants to lick and kiss his neck where the red disappears into the collar of Harry’s shirt. Harry fidgets minutely, his fingers twitching, thumb hooked into the loop of his tight jeans. He tosses his hair out of his face and it returns back just as quickly. “I actually bought a ticket to your show.”

 

“Really?” Zayn’s eyebrows climb on his forehead. That seems like a lot of money to spend on one show. Zayn would definitely give him like backstage passes and all the stuff if he knew. 

 

“Actually, I’m looking at a few unis here. I'm a student and all you know. I think quite like America,” Harry shrugs. “And plus I'm visiting a few friends. My mum’s old friend lives in Orange County.”

 

“Oh.” Zayn’s smile must have fell a little because Harry’s face crumples minutely. His eyebrows are knitted together. Zayn internally curses himself. He feels as if he always does things like this. Ruins his relationships. He’s quite fucked up that with his pre X-factor girlfriend. Girlfriend was an approximate term. And the one with his best mate who he maybe blew a few times Danny Riach. But Ant somehow never even knew. He runs a hand nervously over the edge of his beanie.

 

“We should try and hang out yeah?” says Harry in a rush. “Erm, I mean only if you want to, you know. Like, if you're ever free and stuff, I bet you're really busy.” He looks at the toes of his boots. They are slightly scuffed. Zayn sighs internally. He is so relieved. Also feels kind of shitty for letting Harry take the plunge here. “I mean if that’s cool, I don’t know if we’re like on that level yet,” Harry scratches the back of his head sheepishly.

 

“I was just going to ask you that,” Zayn manages. “I’ll text you or something, sound alright?” Harry pulls him into another bone crushing hug and they part ways, Zayn feeling a little lighter and wearing a smile on his face.

 

…

 

Before Zayn knows it he’s texting Harry almost every day, which is a big deal. Zayn’s not a big texter. A few from his mum and his manager, the occasional blast on the family group text. Niall and Liam send a couple. All ones that express meaning and purpose. But never like this.

 

 

or

 

  

or

  

 

And then begins some news articles. Every once in a while when Zayn and Harry hang out around in the various cities they end up getting photographed. “Zayn Malik and Mystery Boy seen in London after his concert” or “Zayn and Unknown Boyfriend spotted outside a Starbucks”. Zayn is quite surprised they no longer recognize Harry. He was on the X-Factor, now three years ago. He was pretty popular if Zayn remembers correctly. Someone is bound to find out sooner or later though. Zayn is making his PR team hold out on telling them anything. Mostly since, they are just friends and Zayn doesn't want to put any type of pressure on Harry. 

  
Zayn muses as he pokes Harry’s cheek. He looks a lot different than he did three years ago. Sort of. He’s much taller for one. His curly hair had grown out and was nearly shoulder length. Sometimes Harry even wears these smart looking glasses. Zayn is a huge fan and also thinks the glasses make Harry look much older and wiser, a proper uni student or something. Harry’s fallen asleep in his hotel room. They were watching a movie. Or rather Harry mumbled through the first half about how he thought the main actor was super attractive and had Zayn ever met him and could he arrange a meeting for Harry to meet him. Zayn of course does not even know the actor’s last name. Harry just keeps calling him Chris and how he’s a little embarrassed that he’s such a Pinenut.

 

“Harry?” he whispers. Harry snuffles quietly, and cuddles closer into Zayn’s arm. Zayn chuckles to himself. It’s not often that someone else falls asleep before Zayn does. Harry looks so young sleeping. The sharp lines of his jaw are softened somehow. Zayn feels like he doesn’t even know Harry that well and yet he does. They’ve texted a lot, Skyped a handful of times. They meet up whenever they can, catch lunch, maybe have a sleepover after Zayn’s concert. Zayn is not really sure what their relationship is. They made out once, a drunken fumble, all lips and some teeth and Zayn’s roaming hands all over Harry’s plump arse. Zayn had been sure that their relationship had taken the next level. Harry didn’t remember it in the morning even though they woke up in a tangle of limbs, curled around each other and twisted in the sheets. So Zayn just takes what he can get.

 

Harry’s limbs are splayed on the bed, encroaching on Zayn’s personal space. He’s hogging all the pillows, his hair fanning out covering part of his face. Zayn disentangles himself from Harry delicately. Harry makes a keening noise and wriggles his arms towards Zayn, making grabby fingers. Zayn gets him a thick blanket and lays it over his body, tucking it under him at the corners. He’s got a surprising amount of skill at putting kids to bed, contrary to the popular conception of Zayn as the Bradford Bad Boi R&B singer who is both a man and lady killer. He thinks about it for a moment, and quickly presses a kiss to Harry’s forehead.

 

He wakes up to the sound of clanging coming from the hotel suite’s kitchen. Zayn did not even know they were functional until Harry started joining him when he had time. Harry had ended up going to UCLA. So Zayn made a point to always hang in LA a day longer to catch up with him. Luckily, it was his winter break, so Harry decided it would have been a good time for him to come hang out in Zayn’s hotel room in Paris for Zayn’s second album promotional tour. During the day Harry would explore the city while Zayn did interviews and took lots of lots of press photos. The first single off the album has consistently stayed in the top twenty in the US for the past month, so the hype for the album had skyrocketed. Zayn is just happy that his music is getting out there and being heard. The money and the fame is somewhat auxiliary.

 

“Hey sleepyhead,” Harry beams at him. He’s only got an apron on. Zayn can’t see anything else. “Breakfast is on the counter.” There’s a stack of pancakes with chocolate or maybe it’s nutella mixed into the batter, it’s tan in coloration. On top of the pancake there is some fruit arranged into a crooked smile.

 

“Thanks, Haz,” Zayn grins blearily at him. Harry reaches over the counter to ruffle Zayn’s hair. Zayn purrs a bit like a cat, arching into the touch. Zayn likes having his hair played with, pulled even, but he's not so sure Harry needs to know that. Since they aren't in that kind of relationship to Zayn's knowledge. 

 

“So, what’s on the schedule today?” Harry asks as he begins washing up. Zayn almost tells him to stop, but Harry likes to work with his hands as he chats. Harry’s arse looks delectable, the small bow of the apron hardly covering the top of his low back. The muscles in his back ripple as Harry works at scurbbing up the pan. Zayn would tell him to stop since some one will clean up after them but he can't help himself. Zayn chews slowly taking in the view and feeling half bad about it because they are just friends after all.

 

“Umm, lucky I don’t have anything until this evening. Want to show me Paris?” Zayn asks. At the last minute his six am interview with LeMonde was pushed back til the next day. A much bigger story, another one of those Parisian strikes, has cropped up. Zayn is planning on sleeping the whole day, well that was always something he might want to do. But Harry likes to do things and doing things Harry wants to do makes Zayn ridiculously happy.

 

They walk around the city, Zayn has a beanie pulled down tight over his ears. Harry’s got this great coat on and a scarf and loose hat. Zayn is not that cold but Harry makes it look like it’s the dead of winter.  The beanie is more of a precaution than anything. The French fans are relatively tame he thinks. Plus he’s not even that big yet. He sometimes wonders how Harry will react, if he’ll be bothered by the fans. He honestly does not know what’s stopping him from taking the next step. They mosey slowly around the art district, taking some time in Musee Rodin, where Harry insists on making Zayn take a series of silly photos next to The Thinker. Zayn laughs until he has stitches in his sides. He can’t remember the last time he did that.

 

That night they’re walking along the Champs Elysee. The sky is clear and the lights are twinkling and beautiful. Harry’s munching on a crepe and babbling about how English translations of French classics are always terrible and not the truth, which is why Harry is learning French at UCLA and does Zayn know any French? Zayn just feels aglow to have someone who genuinely likes Zayn for Zayn, not for the money nor the fame. At least to Zayn’s knowledge. Sometimes, Zayn wonders if Harry wants to be his boyfriend, or just enjoys Zayn's company and the travels. It's stressful. Zayn had expected their eccentric sort of give and take to have ended by now. Only because he can't make sense of what they are and where they are going. At times it seems like they were on the same path, wanted the same things. It's been a long time since they were sixteen and seventeen knee deep in the dream that they would be famous singers. Their paths are diverging now, thinks Zayn. Harry is a student and Zayn's an undereducated singer. It just does't completely add up.  But Zayn thinks that he likes to hold onto things longer than he should.

 

…

 

A few months later, Zayn is so deep into a song writing binge that he forgets it's his birthday. His penthouse is a bit nippy. Zayn still hasn’t quite figured out how to turn the heat up higher. He prefers to swaddle himself in mess of blankets. He gets a billion texts from everyone, but nothing from Harry. His stomach hurts and he attempts not to overanalyze it. They are just friends after all. Sometimes Zayn forgets himself, what with the way they cuddle in the same bed all the time and stay up all night just talking. Or how Harry parades around scantily clad whenever they are in private. He knows it’s early, maybe Harry’s still sleeping. He is in LA and Zayn’s in London. But even for Zayn’s half birthday Harry had made a big deal and sent him a bunch of silly little things in the mail.

 

He is honestly feeling sort of put out. Zayn regrets not going up to see his mum and telling her not to make the trip down But then the doorbell rings. He eases himself up slowly, the insistent ringing of the bell is quite annoying. He opens the door to reveal Liam and Niall and he thinks his name is Louis. They have all got these ridiculous party hats on and are carrying armfuls of assorted kinds of booze. They push into his house singing and laughing. They are definitely already drunk. Niall is nearly toppling over, stumbling over the rug as he sways into Zayn's penthouse. Liam follows, his arms wrapped around a huge brown paper bag, the booze of course, and a cheery smile on his face. 

 

“We knew you wouldn’t make it out, party pooper,” slurs Liam, “So, like the good mates we are, I am a good mate, am I not lads? Anyways, we decided it was best that we brought the party to you.” They push past Zayn, nudging into him with their shoulders and Liam flops belly first onto the couch. Zayn is just thankful that he doesn't fall off or somehow manage to hurt himself. Louis gives him an appraising look and nods. His eyes are narrowed at Zayn like he is still trying to sort him out. Zayn is not sure himself how he feels about Louis. Zayn’s only got on a pair of loose trackies and wife beater. His hair is flat and soft under a beanie. He unconsciously brushes a lock of bang out of his eyes. It’s gotten quite long without him realizing it. 

 

“Oh, I totally forgot,” begins Niall, “Louis, Zayn. Zayn Louis. I’m sure you know each other or something. You met once at Liam’s home, oh I mean the Funky Buddha.” Liam fake laughs and attempts to punch Niall in the side. Louis grins and throws himself onto the couch right on top of Liam. Zayn raises an eyebrow and Niall just shrugs.

 

“We totally ordered you a stripper,” Liam giggles “He’s really quite fit.” He winks all dirty and begins cackling when Louis starts to tickle him.

 

A flask of something foul smelling is shoved in front of his face and he downs it. Still no text from Harry. His stomach sinks a little bit but he chalks it up to the liquor. Niall and Liam are singing a rousing chorus of the new Miley Cyrus song and Zayn sinks further into the couch glad that at least he’s not alone tonight. It’s nearly midnight when Liam and Louis begin their third round of drunken karaoke on the machine Zayn was given by his elder sister Doniya as a joke. It had arrived earlier that morning. It’s loud and Liam is surprisingly a terrible singer when inebriated, in case Zayn had forgotten. Along with his vocal cords loosening up, Liam completely loses pitch. He’s crooning some old love bop from the 90s and Louis is licking at his neck. Niall is petting one of Zayn’s many cats, one hand stuck down a bag of crisps when the doorbell rings.

 

Zayn is roused from his stupor and rolls off the couch. It’s a slow process, he’s practically half asleep. He goes to answer the door, expecting the stripper. His feet feel heavy and cold as he crosses the tile floor that stretches from his living room to the foyer. He fumbles with he locks before gruffly ripping the door open. He’s shocked to see Harry. His eyes are wide, puffy and red. But he still has a great big smile on his face. Zayn blinks at him and then Harry’s moving in for a big, bone crushing hug.

 

The “What are you doing here?” or the “Don’t you have school?” is lost on his tongue, mostly because Harry takes the plunge and presses his lips tentatively to Zayn’s own. Zayn feels like his body is on fire. He curls a hand around the back of Harry’s neck drawing him in, his other sneaking around to perch lightly on Harry’s hip, stroking the skin with his thumb gently. Harry makes a squeak of enjoyment into Zayn’s mouth and his hands are rubbing down Zayn’s sides. For a moment Zayn forgets everything. His name, that it's his birthday, that he and Harry are finally doing this properly. That they’re out on his front stoop still.

 

Zayn awakes wrapped around a body. He frowns, then remembers the events of the past evening. He tightens his hold on Harry snuggling his face in. Harry makes a snuffling noise and wriggles around, like he might have been awake the whole time and just not woken a sleeping Zayn. It certainly isn’t the first time they have shared a bed, well the first time like this. Zayn is not even embarrassed about his growing erection pressed into Harry’s lower back. He feels content and satisfied, in a way that his music could never do.

 

“G’morning,” Harry says, his voice rough and grumbly. He wiggles again. And Zayn just places a small kiss on the stretch of Harry’s neck that’s before him. “Happy belated birthday,” Harry laughs, “I’m so sorry I didn’t get you a present.” Zayn hears a frown in his voice and hugs him even tighter, snuggling his face against the back of Harry’s neck. Seeking the warmth and trying to convey that he doesn’t care and that Harry is perfect all in one gesture.

 

“So are we going to have sex now, or am I going to have to fly back to school unsatisfied?" Harry whispers. They had fallen asleep in a tangle of limbs before even getting to the main event. Zayn grumbles, but rolls so Harry is sitting on top of him. Harry’s quickly divesting himself of every stitch of his clothing. Zayn has seen him naked before, back in the X-factor house and also in an accidental shower mishap, but never like this. The sun is streaming in through his windows and Harry is undressing for him. Removing his clothing with more grace than Zayn could have imagined. His body is littered with tattoos, eyes hooded as he bucks his hips grinding his erection into Zayn’s. Zayn hisses and scrabbles to get his own shirt off. Harry helps him and accidentally elbows Zayn in the face in the process.

 

“Okay, okay,” Zayn chuckles, “Get up for a second and let’s get these clothes off.” Harry hops off quickly taking his pants off. Zayn removes his own and Harry all but crushes him when he flings himself on top of Zayn. Zayn grabs Harry by the chin and pulls him in for a kiss. It’s awkward at first not as romantic as their first kiss on the stoop, all morning breath and attempting to find a proper rhythm. Their teeth clack together a few times and every couple breathes they both break into peals of laughter.

 

“I want you to fuck me,” says Zayn before he can stop himself. He’s has not been fucked in so long. And it doesn’t happen often. He misses it though, the slight burn, the feeling of wholeness and how he's sore the next day. Harry just blinks at him, eyes wide and mouth gaping rather like a fish.

 

“That might be a problem, because I want you to fuck me?” Harry says, taking Zayn and his cocks into one hand. He strokes them slowly and Zayn muffles his own cry. Harry has got big hands and Zayn thinks they look beautiful, long fingers wrapped around his and Zayn’s shafts. Zayn can’t control the stuttering of his hips or his wandering hands over the notches in Harry’s spine. It’s almost musical the movement of their bodies together, breath catching and mouths slotting together occasionally. Zayn feels like he might burn up thinking about Harry inside of him or him driving into Harry.

 

“How about,” Zayn breathes out, lips brushing against Harry’s skin, “We just switch?”

 

“I can do that,” Harry grins, revealing his pearly white teeth. Zayn rolls them over swiftly, straddling Harry’s hips. He kisses his way down Harry’s chest, nipping and licking at his four nipples much to Harry’s protests. He finally gets his hands on Harry’s dick for the first time, he almost cries. Harry’s dick is uncut and slick from their mingled precome and perspiration. It's weighty and hot in his palm and his mouth waters at the sight of it slipping under his fingers, the foreskin moving as his hand does. Zayn stoops lower and takes the tip of it into his mouth. The precome is salty and bitter against his tongue, but he flattens it and takes Harry’s cock in further. He draws in slow breathes from his nose as he buries it in the neatly trimmed triangle of Harry’s pubic hair, the tip of Harry’s cock pressing against the back of his throat. Harry is making these wonderful noises, soft moans and hands stroking at Zayn’s hair. Zayn moans around Harry when Harry scratches his blunt nails at the nape of his neck. He starts applying more suction and bobbing his head up and down.

 

“I’m gonna--” comes Harry’s choked off gasp as he shoots into Zayn’s mouth. It is a little bitter going down, but much better than Zayn has ever had. Zayn briefly recalls that Harry is on this weird half-vegan diet. And eats fruit nearly nonstop. Zayn finally pulls off and places a gentle kiss on the tip of Harry’s now softening cock. “Oh well, I guess you’ll have to fuck me now.”

 

Zayn grins and rolls over to reach his bedside table, grabbing a tube of lube and a condom. He squirts the lube onto his fingers, rubbing them together, waiting for it to warm up. Harry turns over onto his stomach, wriggling his butt up for Zayn to handle. Zayn gives him a light slap on his right arse cheek and tracing it from his balls to his arsehole. The first finger feels impossibly tight to Zayn but Harry’s moaning and groaning and thrusting his butt further up and further towards Zayn. “Another?” he asks. Harry nods his curls bouncing all around on the back of his neck.

 

“Oh my god, just do it already,” Harry screeches gruffly, after Zayn’s got nearly three fingers in his arse. Zayn pushes gently against Harry’s prostate enjoying his minute moans and the way his body twists from the sensation.

 

“So impatient,” Zayn chuckles, rolling a condom. His hands are shaking a bit, from excitement more than anything. He would be lying if he didn’t feel like he might come as soon as he gets inside Harry. Zayn lines his cock up to Harry’s loosened hole and pushes forward into Harry’s impossible heat. He can feel his own stomach spasming. He squeezes a hand around the base of his dick, willing himself to hold on for a short while. Finally he is fully seated, balls flush against Harry’s buttocks. Harry’s hands are gripping the sheet, he’s propped up on his elbows. Finally he begins thrusting in earnest, shallow at first, just fucking into a rhythm. Harry’s mewling and making muffled curses against the mattress.

 

“I wanna ride you,” comes out muffled but Zayn hears it, ears perking up, heart beating faster at the thought of it. He pulls out, resting a hand on the small of Harry's back and immediately misses the warmth. There’s about thirty seconds of awkward shuffling around on the bed, but finally Zayn is on his back, head propped up by a few pillows and Harry’s straddling him, knees on other side of his body. Harry nearly topples over if not for Zayn's hands keeping him steady, firm over his hipbones. Harry’s face is beautiful as he lowers himself onto Zayn’s cock. The line of his neck when he throws his head back and gentle part of his lips. Zayn cries out at the slow, torturous pace of Harry’s fucking. He is mesmerized by Harry’s face open and wonderful, a flush traveling from his face down towards his neck and chest. His tattoos are glistening in his sweat. Harry comes soon, tightening more than Zayn thought was possible. Zayn follows shortly after, coming to sit up and sink his teeth into the juncture of Harry’s shoulder and neck.

 

They lay in an exhausted heap, sticky with come, still trying to catch their breath. The room smells like sex, thinks Zayn. He feels lethargic and happier than he has in such a long time. Boneless as he lies there with Harry collapsed on top of his chest. Harry is delicately tracing the lips on his chest with his index finger. The only sounds are the distant traffic noises and the cadence of their synchronized breathing.

 

It’s hours later when he gets a call from one of his PR managers that everything goes to shit. Apparently, there are tons of photos online of Zayn and his mystery boy, Harry, making out on Zayn’s front stoop. Zayn’s heart sinks. He doesn’t want to thrust all the fame and crazy on Harry like this. But apparently that is not in the cards. His PR team is actually more happy than not. They think it would be good for his image to have a steady boyfriend. And seeing how Harry has actually been spotted bopping around with Zayn it isn’t totally random. Plus something about spinning how they had crushes on each other back in the X-factor days. Zayn just feels like shit, since Harry is humming in his kitchen probably wearing nothing but an apron to protect his important parts, blissfully unaware about the shit storm about to come his way.

 

…

 

Gracefully Harry has stepped into the limelight of being Zayn’s boyfriend. He of course is still a student. Zayn is thankful that fame is not so great as to disturb his studies. Harry has never complained either. Zayn worries all the time still. Remembering the crestfallen expression on Harry’s face when Zayn told him what was going to happen. For the briefest of moments Zayn thought he was about to be dumped before they even started. But Harry put on a tight smile and said, “Of course I’ll be your boyfriend officially. Been waiting for you to ask for ages. We’re going to get married after all, right?" He pulls Zayn into a quick hug. And then they spend the rest of the morning snuggling and having sluggish, lazy sex.

 

There’s a week of utter perfection. They spend it in a lazy routine of fucking, ordering in and sleeping. A few times they manage to get out Zayn's penthouse and it's mostly to get tattoos and then fuck through the high they get afterwards. Zayn thinks it's the most time he's spent with just one person with no complaints and he even hasn't smoked as much. Once they go to an empty parking lot and Harry attempts to teach Zayn how to drive. They just end up having heated sex, once in the backseat, then in the front seat, and a few hours later in the dark of night on the hood of the car. But as all good things do, Harry has to return to school. Zayn’s publicist forces Zayn to go to the airport so that their tearful parting is documented forever. Zayn then retreats into his house and goes on a massive songwriting binge. After all he has sort of overcome a great source of his frustration. It feels sort of strange, he thinks, getting what he wants. He is still not quite used to it. Remembers too vividly the bullies in middle school and the sting of rejection from his secondary school crush Maria. Or maybe it’s all the times he’s bitten his tongue when he has wanted to ask for something. He knows his parents have done everything for him, but money was tight and he did not want them to extend themselves. He is afraid he’ll have to give Harry back. That he won’t get to keep him. He isn’t dumb. He knows that relationships don’t tend to last very long for celebrities and for a good reason. Plus they are pretty young. Harry is only twenty and Zayn twenty-one. He’d be foolish to think they might last forever. He figures himself more of a realist than a pessimist. He just does not want to fuck this one up. It is his first proper relationship or something. The longest that is for sure.

 

Zayn is pretty sure Louis and Liam are an item as well. Though, he’s not sure how that even happened. Niall says something about fucking backstage and how Louis is super aggressive and gets what he wants and how they started sleeping together ages ago. Back when they first met at the club that night, the time Zayn met Harry, or was reunited with him. The pair of them are fairly inseparable. The tabloids call them LiLo and there are always these adorable pictures of them vacationing and doing coupley things. It was strange since as far as Zayn knew, what he gathers from Harry was that Louis was not exactly a settling down type. Zayn and Harry didn’t really talk much about their friends or personal lives really now that Zayn thinks of it. Somehow, he found it odd that two of their sort of mutual friends had gotten together. And much before Zayn and Harry had at that.

 

It all sort of comes to a head when he’s texting Harry.

 

 

 

Zayn unzips his pants. His dick springs out almost comically, bobbing until it comes to rest hard against his abdomen. He imagines it will be difficult to jerk off while texting. But he thinks he might be able to do a one handed one quickly.

  

 

When Zayn finally gets a hand around himself, he lets out a long hiss. He is already achingly hard by some miracle. Leaking at the tip. He spreads the precome around with his thumb.

 

 

Zayn nearly comes right then and there. He’s never done that to anyone before. Of course he’s thought about rimming Harry but they hadn’t gotten to that point yet. He hopes Harry is in his room at this point, so he picks up his cell phone and gives him a call. He wants to hear Harry’s moans and the slick sounds of his hand on his cock and the squelch of him fingering himself thinking about Zayn’s tongue. Just the thought of taking Harry apart just with his tongue is enough to make him shoot all over himself like an overly eager adolescent. Zayn is struck with the strong desire to make Harry come solely from his mouth.

 

“Zayn, I’m so fucking hard,” Harry’s ragged breathing comes through the phone, Zayn can hear the faint jangling of keys. “Thank god, he’s not here.” Harry’s breathless and panting. Zayn nearly sobs when he hears Harry flicking off the cap of a tube of lube and his resulting wail when he gets his first hand on his achingly hard dick.

 

“Oh my fucking god,” Harry’s voice is thick and harsh around the edges. “I thought I was going to jizz in my pants in class. You’re such a mean mean mean person, Zayn. A mean horny person.”

 

“You said you wanted to be entertained,” Zayn musters. He scrunches his eyes shut and grips at the base of dick. There is more harsh breathing and a loud yelp. “Are you okay?” asks Zayn holding back a laugh. Harry has proved to be quite clumsy, especially when he’s sexually frustrated. Once Harry had nearly had to make a trip to the hospital because he hit his head quite forcefully onto the bedside table.

 

“M’fine,” comes Harry’s voice after a beat. “I just tripped with my pants and trousers down around my ankles.” Zayn still cock in hand starts to laugh ignoring Harry’s protests and shouts that he’s still hard and hey wasn’t Zayn supposed to be getting him off. Eventually, Harry comes a while before Zayn does, since Zayn was all distracted and now sporting sore abs from his fit of laughter.

 

“What time is it there?” Harry asks. They keep on speakerphone some nights just to feel closer together. It’s not great, and Zayn always ends up staying super late and is groggy during work the next day. But Harry is worth it. Plus Liam is on tour with Niall as his lead tech guy, so Zayn is not exactly rich in the friend department. On bad days just hearing Harry’s voice makes his next morning all the much better. Knowing someone besides the people who are supposed to love him, like his mum and sisters and even his dad, are thinking of him too makes him feel all warm and gooey inside.

 

“Nearly three o’clock,” Zayn stifles a yawn. Harry tuts at him and drones on about his new wholistic health class which talks about the benefits of at least eight hours a night and how Zayn is inhibiting his full potential. Zayn’s realized that Harry is kind of a health nut always exercising and going on about kale or some other green and leafy looking thing. He supposes it balances his body sculpted majorly of potato chips and fried chicken. What? He doesn’t eat too well now that he’s living on his own and his mum’s reheatable dinners can only bring him so far. He would hire a personal chef or something, but that seems like so much trouble to have someone rooting about in his house everyday.

 

“You should go to bed,” Harry whines after they talked maybe another half hour more. “Plus I’ve got to go to dinner soon and then we’re having a coffee house. I’m singing a little something.”

 

“Are you now?” Zayn purrs, he’s nearly drooling all over his couch pillow. “Well make sure to record it for me babe. I love hearing you sing.” Zayn can’t remember the last time he heard Harry sing properly. Harry’s always humming and crooning these little bops in the shower, but never a proper song.

 

He can nearly hear the pout in Harry’s voice when he says, “Really? Again. Can’t I do a live one now?” Zayn has never understood why Harry was so uncomfortable singing in front of him now. Harry was ace and Zayn loved to hear his voice, how it had changed over the years and still retained its best qualities from the X-factor days. Of course, back then Zayn had unknowingly had a little bit of a crush on the younger lad from Cheshord. His whole sexuality still budding and what not.

 

“I just, you know. You’re all you and it’s just a silly little thing,” says Harry, “It’s not important.”

 

“But I want to hear everything you do and say or sing even in the shower,” Zayn explains, “I love you.” It comes out faster and more assuredly than Zayn had ever imagined it would have. There is a long quiet.

 

“Do you really mean that?” asks Harry meekly. Zayn’s heart is lodged in his throat for a moment. He feels like he might have to retch. How foolish is he to tell Harry over the phone in the middle of the night (his night at least). Zayn curses internally and just prays that Harry would not have the gall to hang up on him right then and there. Zayn pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, willing the impending headache away. The silence is possibly the most oppressive thing he has endured in his entire life. He knows he is being dramatic but...he thinks he has always given his heart away too soon. His mum used to say that he would be a heartbreaker, but Zayn has never been too sure about that. It always feels like his heart is the one smashed to little pieces. Since no one ever gets to know him or has bothered too, what since his face before and now since his celebrity and he feels a little glum about it. But this is all leading up to Harry reentering his life.

 

“Look,” Zayn musters up some courage finally, “It’s okay. You don’t have to say it back. Or anything like that. I just wanted to tell you how I felt.”

 

“No---no,” Harry sounds panicky, a bit like a scared and frenetic kitten. “I, I guess I’m just surprised is all. I mean like we’ve not really talked about it.” There some more rustling of fabric and a long sigh. Zayn braces himself for the worst. “If I’m honest Zayn, I think I loved you a little bit back when I was sixteen. Of course over time it sort of mutated into this obsession for you, the celebrity. I guess I find it hard to parse the two out. But I’ve always loved you, Zain, Zain Malik. I never factored in the whole Zayn and fame thing though.”

 

“I didn’t mean at all to put any expectations on you at all,” is all Zayn can say. He squeezes his eyes shut and just wishes he had gone to sleep when Harry had told him to earlier. Harry has a way of making Zayn shut down. Stop him in his tracks. He supposes their reunion was rather impromptu and like some sort of meet-cute out of a bad RomCom. If he were Harry, he probably wouldn’t have had the guts to text a former crush/ celebrity back. Zayn wonders if Harry thinks that Zayn is just using him for sex and a good time. He shakes the qualm off. It’s a silly thing to worry about.

 

“This is a terrible conversation to have over the phone,” Harry sighs, “I just want to be there and cuddle you. You’re probably all sad and have your little cat pouty face on. Zayn. I love you. All of you. I guess I just, it’s all so fast. And I still want to finish my school and have a career and I do want to be with you. Never doubt my feelings for you, Zaynie.” Zayn’s stomach twists. He has never considered the full implications of his life with Harry on Harry. He has been selfish. It's bad enough on his family, in certain ways. And they sort of have to stick with him. Zayn doesn't think Yaser has looked him straight in the eye since he left the house for his X-factor audition back when he was seventeen. It's not that his father doesn't love him, no, nothing like that. It's just that Yaser is not able to be with him anymore, his childhood ended. Yaser's parenting of his only son came to an abrupt end. “Now don’t you go thinking you are a mean selfish person or something,” Harry chides. He knows him so well.

 

“I’m sorry to spring this on your Haz. I have a break soon. Shall I come out to LA or something?” Zayn says. He reckons he sounds like a right pitiful dog.

 

“No. How about we take it easy for the next month or so? Then I can come cozy up with you all summer long or something,” says Harry thoughtfully. Zayn’s heart clenches. But he knows it is for the best. “Four weeks, Zayn. And phone calls every other day!” Zayn breathes a sigh of relief.

 

“Love you babe,” he whispers.

 

“I love you too, Zayn.”

 

…

 

Of course, Zayn doesn’t call Harry for a few days. He thinks he needs to clear the air or something. And Harry doesn’t call him back, so Zayn feels pretty alright with it all. At least that’s what he convinces himself. He throws himself back into work. It’s only three weeks and he has loads of feelings to put to the page now. Pens some songs about his flailing love life. Besides, it’s the kick off of Liam’s first full world tour that night. Liam always seems to be about six months to a year ahead of Zayn in terms of his career, despite them both beginning at roughly the same time. Zayn amounts it to Liam’s general likeability and the fact that he caters to mostly little girls who love pop music and Liam’s bulging muscles.

 

He’s sitting in their record label’s box. It’s quieter in there, with a few tele screens mounted on the wall. It’s more for executives to schmooze than anything. Louis is there too. The fond expression on his face as he watches his boyfriend prance across stage seems sort of strange. Zayn thinks that it makes him look softer and younger. And Zayn doesn’t know him too well, but he’s sort of got this rough and tumble attitude about him. So they haven’t gotten on too fabulously in the past. But Zayn thinks maybe they could be friends.

 

Louis finally notices him, gives him a halfhearted wave. The one you give to people in public to not seem like a total arseshole. Zayn swears he can hear him sniff when Zayn sits in the armchair next to him. Liam is out there belting about how much he loves the subject of the song or something and all Zayn can think about is how he fucked up royally with Harry. “You’re not so bad, are you?” Louis says after a while, giving him a look. His eyes rove lazily over Zayn’s body. “Looking, I mean.”

 

“Eh, thank you?” Zayn says. He feels like he’s being evaluated, scrutinized and picked apart by Louis’ judgemental and appraising stare. Louis is after all Harry’s best friend. So he reckons Harry probably told Louis what had happened, thus landing him on the bloke’s hit list.

 

“You’re a sodding idiot you know that?” Louis laughs, it’s high and clear. “The pair of you. Lord help us all.” Louis has this wicked sort of grin on, splitting from one ear to the other. Zayn thinks he looks proper evil. Sort of reminds Zayn of Ant back when he had that mean streak when they were about seven or eight. For a week or so Ant was super into playing stupid little pranks on people, mostly Danny and Zayn. And then laughing his arse off about them. It resulted in Danny breaking his arm and Ant returning to his normal and considerably less vindictive self.

 

“Why don’t you call him?” says Louis after Liam leaves the stage for a quick outfit change. Zayn shrugs.

 

“He said he needed space.” Louis shakes his head. It’s tiring trying to interact with him. Louis is always acting like he knows much more. Like he’s got one up on Zayn.

 

“You Zayn Malik seem to know a lot about love,” Louis muses under his breath. Still loud enough for Zayn to hear him. “I mean at least in your songs and stuff. But you’re sort of,” he shrugs, “I dunno. It all seems really quite simple to me. But it might be because I’m older and wiser or something.”

 

And Zayn feels a little angry. What can Louis possibly say? He’s all finished with Uni at this point and managed to bum a job working for Liam’s management. Zayn is not even sure if he even does anything. He seems content being Liam’s boyfriend and globe trotting along with the other popstar. Zayn knows for sure he can’t expect Harry to do that for him. Give up all his aspirations. It’s just not a fair thing to ask. Plus Harry’s made it pretty clear what he wants after all.

 

It is a few weeks later and Harry is coming home for the summer holidays. Apparently he has some sort of internship lined up for him at a publishing house in central London. Zayn is at least glad for that. But Harry decides on his own that’s he’s going to rent a flat with one of his secondary school mates rather than crash at Zayn’s. It stings a little bit, when Harry tells him that over the phone one afternoon. At least they are back on better terms. Talking every other day and texting a whole bunch. Harry has a week at home before the internship starts. Zayn wants to ask to meet his family, of whom he’s heard so much about. But he thinks it might be too much. So he picks Harry up from the airport and drives him to his new flat. Well, has his driver drive Harry and him to the flat. Zayn has still not learned how to drive. They’re all cuddled up in the backseat. Harry’s dead asleep against Zayn’s shoulder. A small pool of his drool is puddling on Zayn’s jacket.

 

The flat’s unfurnished, so they sleep on the bare mattress on the floor. A tangle of limbs and Harry snuffling like a little pig in his sleep. Zayn still hasn’t brought up their argument or heated discussion of now three and a half weeks ago. Or what Louis said to him at Liam’s concert. But it hangs over him like a heavy weight. In the morning he and Harry go shopping for furniture and bedding and it’s all proper domestic and Zayn feels a pang in his heart. Harry gives him a pleading look when Zayn offers to pay for it. So Zayn snaps his wallet shut and forgets he even offered.

 

They have lazy sex in the morning, it’s slow and burns a bit, as Harry slides into Zayn still wearied by sleep. Harry had taken his time opening Zayn up, as Zayn slowly makes his way into the world of the living. They are laying on their sides but soon roll over, so that Harry is pressing Zayn into the mattress. Zayn groans as Harry drives into him, gripping at the sheets by his head and panting softly. Harry slaps his arse hard and lets out a giggle. It should be a mood killer, but somehow it’s not. Zayn moans loudly, fucking into his own hand. He’s sweating and it feels so good. Harry’s cock is one of the bigger ones he’s taken, so the fucking is tinged with a good kind of burn. The rhythm is awkward and not quite right and he has difficulty staying up on one arm and jerking himself off. He drops to his forearms and bites his lip to stifle a loud moan that results from Harry’s thrusting at this new angle.

 

Harry comes inside him, Zayn doesn’t remember when they stopped using condoms. Like the courteous boyfriend he is, Harry blows Zayn and swallows, lapping up all the excess semen happily with a few strokes of his agile tongue. They lay in a sticky mess on the bare mattress. Zayn frowns and hopes the sheet covering the mattress did its job. He feels content, though he thinks he might have a twinge in his back when he gets up and walks around later.

 

“You going to your parent’s soon?” asks Zayn, lazily stroking a hand through Harry’s hair, which has gotten so long. Harry nods and presses a kiss into the palm of Zayn’s hand. It’s gentle but Zayn’s heart seizes in his chest. Like the tiny gesture somehow would solve all his problems.

 

“I love you, you dumb head,” Harry says, his voice comes out muffled, since he’s talking against Zayn’s arm, “Stop thinking so loudly.” They spend the next few hours drifting in and out of consciousness, making out like sloppy teenagers and then falling back into sleep’s gentle caress.

 

But soon the lazy morning comes to a close. It’s nearly one and after a shower that turned cold since Zayn was super invested in investigating Harry’s arse with his tongue, Harry’s got a small bag packed and is ready to go to see his family. Zayn fidgets awkwardly, shifting from one foot to the other. He wants to meet Gemma and Anne and even Robin. And see the house where Harry grew up. He’s sort of afraid to ask. Harry is balling up the sheets and throwing them in a hamper, muttering things under his breath. Probably his packing list. If Zayn knows anything about Harry it's that he has a knack for mumbling things out loud, particularly, packing lists, groceries, or other things he has to remember. It's sort of cute. 

 

“What’s wrong, Zaynie?” he asks as he locks up the flat. Zayn shrugs and stuffs his hands into his jean pockets. He sort of misses and only ends up with his index finger in the pocket. Harry doesn't notice. “What you think my parent’s aren’t going to like you? I’m sure they will.” And Zayn’s fears are easily assuaged. At least he never had to ask.

 

Zayn’s driver is outside Harry’s flat. The ride to Holmes Chapel is quick. Well, entirely because Zayn sleeps the whole trip there. Harry shakes him awake gently, when they arrive at the town’s limits. It’s quaint is the first thing he thinks. And also there’s nothing but cute little cottage houses and fields for as far as he can see. Harry truly grew up in the middle of bum fuck nowhere thinks Zayn. Everything looks so friendly, even the fucking cows. He takes a picture of a particularly cute one and sends it to Niall.

 

They arrive at Harry’s home. “Gemma ought to be home in a day’s time, I reckon,” says Harry. Zayn pops the boot and grabs Harry’s bags. Zayn didn’t pack any clothes, but he’ll just end up wearing Harry’s shit anyways. “My mum and Robin won’t be home til later today. So we can just hang out for a while.” Harry roots around for the spare key for a while. He finally finds it under a turtle shaped rock. The house is very neat, Zayn notes. Meticulously so. There are honey colored hardwood floors and the kitchen has a big great window that overlooks the backyard. There’s an overwhelming amount of white in the decor, a sort of sterility that Zayn is surprised to find.

 

“This is my house,” says Harry bluntly. He spreads his arms wide a does and little turn in the kitchen. “Let’s go see my room, shall we?” Zayn feels like an intruder but follows Harry up the carpeted stairs to his childhood bedroom. It’s pretty much exactly what Zayn expected. Band posters on the walls. Pictures of Harry and his friends littering photo frames on Harry’s desk. There’s also a wall just of books. The spines are all worn and range from _Harry Potter_ to Romantic Poets to Bukowkski. Harry sits on his childhood bed, which makes a loud creaking noise. Zayn finishes his little staring contest with Harry’s room and turns to him. Harry looks sort of odd, like he’s morphed into the younger version of himself. Looks smaller on the twin sized bed, despite being nearly as long as it. It’s almost as if he’s seeing his room for the first time as well, or being self conscious about it.

 

The moment passes quickly because Harry soon decides he’s starving and whips them up a feast for lunch, though it’s practically dinner since it’s four o’clock in the afternoon. This time and for the first time ever, Harry wears clothing under his apron. Says Robin doesn’t appreciate it when he cooks naked. Zayn is sure there’s a story there but Harry neglects to share it. An hour or so later, Anne comes home. She’s got Harry’s big smile and she wraps her son into a tight hug. She shakes Zayn’s hand and then hugs him as well. She smells nice.

 

It’s not exactly the whole meet the parents scenario that Zayn has always imagined. Anne and Robin are incredibly friendly and ask him all sorts of questions about his career and how Harry and he got reunited. They are polite and Robin throws his head back and laughs heartily. He’s so very unlike Yaser, Zayn is baffled. Anne is warm and  Zayn reckons he must have at least been in close proximity of the two during the X-factor. Anne seems to remember him, commenting on how mature he looks now and how she actually quite enjoys his music, much to his surprise.

 

The next day he meets Gemma over brunch, who seems extremely judgmental if her stank face is anything to go by. She flicks her eyes up and down him and makes a vaguely disinterested ‘hmph’. Harry seems to not notice the moment. The whole brunch Gemma and Harry get on like the best of mates, well they are siblings after all, and Zayn sort of sits there feeling rather stupid. Gemma’s a real person with a proper job, and she certainly acts like it. Talking about her colleagues at work and how her boss is quite a fright. When Harry’s gone to the loo, Gemma’s unimpressed face comes back on.

 

“Look,” she says, sipping her mimosa, “You seem like a nice guy. It’s just that Harry gave up that life when he, you know, when he lost at the X-factor. I don’t want you to interfere with him having a normal life.”

 

Zayn gapes in shock at her. That’s pretty much been his biggest fear all along, and Harry’s expressed similar concerns, albeit a lot less contemptuously. “Harry can make decisions on his own,” is all Zayn can muster, thankful that Harry’s quick at pissing, because he’s sliding into his chair with a great big smile on his stupid face. Gemma smirks at him for the rest of the meal. And Zayn supposes getting along 3/4th of Harry’s family is good enough for him.

 

…

 

The next year passes by in a blur. Harry’s internship flies by. Their short time in London that summer is fleeting. Zayn spends it mostly in rehearsals and in the studio, the real one recording tons of shit. The time they share together is in the evenings, fucking or watching movies or reading Harry’s work papers when Harry’s too tired to do anything. Before Zayn knows it Harry and he are celebrating their two year anniversary. Zayn thinks if you count the time they spent dancing around each other it might even be three years. But it feels like only six months. Not that Zayn’s counting, but that’s probably closer to the actual amount of time they’ve spent together. Zayn is just happy Harry will graduate this year and since he’s thinking of writing his novel, they can spend loads more time in close proximity, if not together. He doesn’t mention this to Harry, of course. But one day on the way back from the recording studio he makes a rash decision. Some might consider it rash at least.

 

When it boils down to it, Zayn can’t think of anyone else. There has never been anyone else. And there won’t be. He thinks of his parents who met so young and married soon after. His sister was born quite quickly afterwards. Besides, he rationalizes that he and Harry have known each other for nearly seven years now, well not straight through the seven years, but it doesn’t matter.

 

Since his internships finished, Harry has been staying at Zayn’s penthouse. Typing furiously away on his novel during the day and even through the night sometimes. Zayn almost feels like an accessory when he comes home. He filmed his first proper music video the other day. There’s a script and more than one set and a whole team of people just to attend on Zayn. It’s not like those ones filmed with a shaky hand in someone’s living room and a car park. It will go up on Zayn Malik Vevo and everything. He has always been unsure of them. Since he thinks he’s not the most interesting person, he can’t really dance and his music is not suited for that anyways. The pressure is mounting since the single was quite popular. The people must expect an equally captivating music video. The shoot takes about four days to complete. Which Zayn doesn’t much understand seeing is he’s just walking around on a green screen looking really emo for seventy five percent of the video. The beginning little scene takes place at a bar, where Zayn is sitting alone. It’s meant to be a love song, so he’s not quite sure why this is the way it is. But he trusts his creative director. Plus Niall is working production on this, so he knows it can’t possibly be that bad.

 

Zayn’s always been a romantic at heart. At least that’s what Doniya has always mumbled under her breath. She thinks he’s always liked the idea of being in love more than anything else. Zayn is pretty sure she’s right. Doniya and he had been much closer back before he went on the X-Factor. Zayn wasn’t really out to many of his friends. Even Danny and Ant didn’t know. Zayn knew the way they talked about gay guys at school. He wanted to avoid explanations. He likes girls and boys. And somehow that seems to have been extremely confusing for his mum and dad at first. But Doniya was always understanding.

 

A few days after the shoot, Zayn gets an idea during editing. At first he brushes it off as a delusioned fantasy. However, it lingers after he packs up for the day. So that night when he arrives home, he creeps through the house as quietly as possible. He’s sure Harry’s in a power writing mode right now anyways. Now he’s thought of a couple different ways to do this. He goes with the simplest. Maybe it’s safe. But he does not want to risk forcing the question or embarrassing Harry. Harry’s nowhere to be found. Harry is not in his study where he normally lounges about, hair tied off in a bun, in various states of undress depending on the mood and the level at which the thermostat is set.

 

“Hey, Zayn,” calls Harry, he’s in the shower, his voice comes out all echoey and warm. There’s steam wafting into his bedroom. Curling from under the bathroom door and space where the door is left partially ajar. “Come join me,” his voice floats melodically, bouncing off the ceiling and reaching Zayn as a whisper. Zayn hurries to shuck all his clothing off, nearly tripping out of his trousers and walks into the bathroom. It feels like he’s moving in slow motion as he approaches Harry in his glass door shower. Harry’s got his stupid shower cap on and Zayn thinks he couldn’t love anyone more in this moment. He steps into the shower, thankful he picked a model that would have plenty of room for more than one person.

 

“Can I shave you?” asks Harry. He’s holding a straightedge razor up. Zayn chases Harry’s lips with his own before giving his answer. It’s chaste and quick. But Zayn just needs to do it.

 

“Uh,” he has a light grip on Harry’s wrist, runs his hand over the delicate skin of Harry’s wrist. Zayn can almost feel Harry’s pulse jump beneath his fingers., “Maybe we should do this not in the shower. Wash me first?” Harry nods and turns to get the shampoo. It’s Harry’s, this weird horse shampoo that is supposedly pina colada scented and makes Zayn’s hair smell like a tropical island. Harry squeezes a liberal amount in his hands and Zayn laughs. He slaps the slop of the shampoo on top of Zayn’s head and begins lathering it up, massaging Zayn’s scalp and scratching at the sensitive areas behind Zayn’s ears. Zayn shivers despite the hot spray of the shower.

 

Finally they finish the shower, a relatively PG rated one for them. They step out of the shower, Zayn taking care to help Harry who is prone to slipping when wet. After toweling off some, Harry lifts Zayn onto the counter. Zayn lathers up shaving cream and massages it into his face and the upper part of his neck. Harry takes the razor blade in his hand. Zayn eyes it warily. But Harry’s hands are gentle, one on the column of Zayn’s neck and the other holding the razor against the bottom of his chin. The moment is as intimate as any. Zayn’s breath catches in his throat as Harry presses the razor cautiously to the underside of his chin. He wants Harry to make eye contact with him but the fluttering of his eyelashes and his bottom lip between his teeth is enough for now. It’s like the air leaves him when Harry makes the first shave. He crumbles under the gentle hands.

 

“So, I’ve been thinking, we should get married, yeah?” Harry asks, completely stunning Zayn, who was about to ask the same exact question. Zayn stares and Harry’s face crumples, and darkens. Zayn pries the razor from Harry’s hand and sets it aside on the counter. He takes Harry’s face between his hands, rubbing his thumbs over his wrinkled brow and over his cheeks where his dimples normally are. He presses his lips to Harry's forehead.

 

"Yeah, babe," Zayn whispers against his brow still, "Yeah. I, mean, of course. Since you know, we’ve technically been engaged for like three years.” Zayn feels Harry shudder in his arms. “I have something for you." Harry looks up expectantly. "Like it's not my boner. It's in my jacket out there."  Zayn gestures vaguely towards the bedroom. Harry picks Zayn up, hands on his bum. Zayn's always liked that about Harry and him. They're both capable of carrying each other around and Zayn loves it both ways. Being pushed around and his own ability to rough Harry up in a sexy way of course.

 

Zayn finally gets his hands on the ring after Harry has his way with him. Zayn isn’t sure if guys typically wore engagement rings, but Harry has so many on all the time and well so does Zayn, so he figured he’d get this stupid little one. It’s sort of indie looking, a cheap stupid one, but Zayn thinks it has this hipster flair. It’s a simple silver or platinum band with a sort of chunky black circular piece. He feels rather daft as he slides it onto Harry’s pointer finger with a shaking hand. It doesn’t fit Harry’s ring finger. And in hindsight, Zayn is not sure he wants to go public with the engagement. Save Harry’s privacy and stuff. Harry is over the moon. Kissing him and sobbing about how happy he is and also mumbling about how Gemma was wrong and they are perfect together. Zayn briefly wonders what Harry’s on about. He wasn’t sure Gemma would have the gall to actually tell Harry just how she felt about Zayn. Zayn’s pretty over it at this point. It was nearly three months ago and it’s not like they see much of her anyways. Besides, Zayn’s used to people not liking him. And if Harry’s loves him that enough for him.

 

His mum cries when he tells her over facetime. His dad, cryptic as ever, supports him. Yaser seems happier than he normally is, if that's any indication. The hint of a smile and the gruff congratulations. Zayn still doesn't know if he's ever recovered from when he came out as well. His baby sisters haven’t all met Harry, but they’re easy and Harry is such a doll that Zayn doesn’t worry at all. He can’t wait to finally bring his fiance to visit the whole family. Though he knows he has not done nearly enough prep work for Harry to be introduced to everyone. Zayn’s not sure what Harry’s parents think. They seem to accept it easily when Zayn and Harry tell them at brunch one day. Zayn could not be happier. Except that, well he’s got a world tour to prepare for. His first one. The tour starts out in London and meanders through Europe before moving to Australia and finally North America. Zayn’s not really sure how it’ll go. He has performed at select places in America and Europe, but Australia seems so far away. Even more so when he looks down at his ring, the one Harry decided to get him. It’s a skull that he wears on his pointer finger as well. It’s kind of huge and amazing.

 

Niall is the first to notice it, the change, one day at rehearsal. “What’s up with you mate?” he asks, “You seem so happy. Like really happy. Haven’t seen you like this since your first gig.” Zayn laughs. Niall dates himself sometimes, makes himself seem older what with the way he talks.

 

“Well, if you must know,” Zayn begins, then he just holds up his skull ring, waggling his fingers about, letting the light reflect off of it.

 

“You like skulls, then?” Niall says, with a slight frown. He’s concentrated mostly on wrapping these black wires around each other.  Zayn still doesn’t half understand anything that Niall even does. It’s all very complicated. All the knobs and little bars on the soundboards Niall uses. “Glad to know you’re quite in touch with your emo thirteen year old self.”

 

“Thanks Ni,” Zayn laughs, “I have actually got engaged, you know nothing too exciting.” He says it in a whisper and he’s not sure if Niall has heard him. But soon he’s tackled against some important looking speakers, being crushed by a classic Niall hug. He can feel Niall’s diaphragm heaving. He’s not crying is he? Rather, Niall’s giggling like a bloody five year old.

 

“Fucking finally,” Niall exclaims, his grasp on Zayn still bone crushing, “I’ve been waiting for this shit to happen for ages.”

 

“Have you now?” Zayn asks when Niall pulls back and slaps him on the back twice, with quite a lot of force. Zayn returns the favor but Niall seems to be unfazed. Niall is wearing this thoughtful sort of expression on his face, almost wistful for a minute.

 

“Yeah, we may have been running a pool,” Niall returns to his mess of wires and important looking sound engineering shit, “Well. We being me and Liam and Louis. But you know, so it was really just me and Louis then. Since Liam just does whatever---anyways, I’ve won a couple quid. I bet you all were going to get engaged before your boy Harry graduated.” Niall’s eyes are all crinkly. Like he’s super proud he’s had one up on Louis. Zayn can understand the sentiment, since Louis is definitely the type to be a sore loser. “So what we doing to celebrate then?” asks Niall.

 

His mobile buzzes in his pocket. Zayn smiles, it can only be one person. He takes his phone out and sees he has a text from Harry. He smiles dumbly.

 

 

“Are you even listening anymore?” Niall interrupts his texting moment. Zayn waves Niall off and Niall just throws his head back and lets out a long laugh. Niall knows how it is. It’s strange, Zayn thinks. Niall has a good run of a bunch of birds all the time but he’s always sort of trapped between other couples.

 

 

  

…

 

It happens during the break of Zayn’s world tour. It’s stupid and small but it still counts. Niall is there and so is Liam and Louis. And Zayn is not that dumb, he invites his parents and Harry’s parents for the tiny ceremony. Harry wears this incredible black suit, with no tie, the shirt unbuttoned just past his solar plexus to expose his moth. Zayn has given up trying to convince Harry to button his shirts up one more. Zayn’s wearing all black as well. In the back of his mind he sort of feels like a proper ninja, but he doesn't share that with anyone. He is pretty sure Harry already knows. He will have to wear a proper sherwani for the public one, since he knows they’ll have to have an official one soon. And invite Zayn’s millions of cousins and Harry’s extended family and billionty hipster friends. In part they have this tiny, small private nuptials so that Harry doesn’t have to fully step out. He’s not even technically graduated university. He’s finished but hasn’t been handed his diploma just yet. This marriage is for them, their relationship. Zayn still isn’t prepared to share Harry with the world, especially if Harry doesn’t wish to be shared. Harry never reauditioned for the X-factor after all. He opted for a normal life, graduated from secondary school, did his A-levels, and just finished up uni.

 

Their wedding night is spent on a plane. Not ideal for Zayn, since his distaste for flying has not changed much in the few years that he has been doing it. First class, of course, and Harry comes to crowd Zayn in his little cubicle an hour into the flight. Harry's super giggly, probably still buzzed off the champagne he imbibed at the terminal. They dry hump like teenagers during the nighttime part of the flight under a sterile airplane blanket. The little cubes don’t normally seem small at all, but cramming two adult males into one was definitely not the manufacturer's intention. Zayn imagines the angle would be awful for a handjob and near impossible for a blow job, unless one of them was half out in the aisle. Harry doesn't seem to mind the confined quarters though. Harry grinds down on him, and  Zayn bites down on Harry’s neck when he comes, stifling his moan. He feels like a sodding moron now that he’s cuddling with Harry wrapped around him, pants sticky with cooling cum. Zayn supposes he is now officially a member of the mile high club. He can still feel Harry hard in his trousers, his erection pressing against Zayn’s hipbone.

 

“Lucky for you,” Harry whispers, rooting around in the little airplane cubicle, “I’ve brought extra pants for the both of us. But you definitely have to earn it.” Then he asks with a completely straight face, “How does little Zed feel about having a suck on my lolly?”  

 

Zayn stares for a moment unsure of what he has just heard. Then, Zayn laughs until his sides feel like they are splitting and he has probably woken up all of first class and business class. Harry’s pouting and poking at Zayn in the ribs with an insistent finger, which isn’t helping at all. Zayn’s ribs have always been completely ticklish. He is still chuckling, reverberating through his rib cage and Harry just frowns at him. The worst part is that Zayn’s come is going to dry soon and it will be a major fucking pain to get out of his pubes and his pants are totally ruined. He squirms uncomfortably in his dirty, come sodden pants.

 

“You’re the absolute worst,” Harry hisses, pushing off Zayn. He almost slams his head into part of the little cube. Harry scuffles around and then squishes Zayn against the side of the seat. It’s a tight fit, Harry’s got a plump sort of bottom and his thighs are kind of thick, thicker than Zayn’s at least. Their bodies are so different, Zayn likes to revel in the contrasts. The way his hands curve on Harry’s waist, or how if Harry wanted to, he could hold Zayn down by his hips, his hands so large they take up most of his pelvis. Splayed on his abdomen, Zayn can imagine that Harry’s hand takes up most of the space. Or how Harry despite being much larger still likes to be the little spoon. Their positions are not comfortable. Zayn’s own hip bone is plastered against the plastic of the seat’s side. Zayn’s sweating a little bit now, the heat of their bodies sweltering underneath the scratchy blanket.

 

“Have I killed your hard on then?” asks Zayn. He pats at the bulge in Harry's jeans, Harry’s hips buck up and his pout borders on the level of a five year old being denied a sweet. And then Zayn shoves at the buttons on Harry’s too tight jeans. He fumbles for a while, until finally he manages to pop the button fly open. Zayn’s not a fan of a button fly. He’s never worn jeans with them himself and he doesn’t understand why Harry does. His pants are already impossibly tight, the backs of the buttons pressing into his dick could not possibly be comfortable. “No pants? Kinky, Mr. Malik,” Zayn croons, when he sees Harry’s cock nestled to the left as always, but with no underwear. It’s half hard and hot. Zayn’s fingers curl around the base of it, coaxing it out of his clothed prison. Harry makes the most amazing noise when Zayn finally gets an easy tempo going. Pretty soon Harry’s spilling all over Zayn’s hand, hot and wet. Zayn lifts the hand to his mouth and swipes a broad stroke over his palm. It’s salty and Zayn wants to lap the rest of it up but Harry has a tight grip on his wrist. Harry leans in towards Zayn in for a kiss. Zayn growls as Harry licks the taste of himself out of his mouth.

 

“Did you just call me 'Mr. Malik'?” Harry asks after Zayn has wiped the rest of the come off his hands on the airplane blanket while Harry wrinkles his nose. Zayn shrugs, it is sort of gross, but he’s not sure it matters since he tossed it in one of the empty cubes up by the front of the plane. He feels sort of bad for the poor flight attendant that finds it. But he’s pretty sure they clean those things anyways.

 

“I mean, yeah I guess we didn’t agree on anything,” says Zayn. He’s sort of drowsy and it felt right at the moment. Mr. Malik. That’s his dad’s name. Technically that’s his name. Harry Malik. It does not sound too elegant rolling off the tongue. He mulls over it, tasting it. Harry stares at him, eyes half lidded. He runs his thumb over Zayn’s bottom lip, left to right, hooking it into the corner of Zayn’s mouth and pulling down slightly. “Whadafuc are fuou dewin?”

 

“I love you, Zed,” says Harry, withdrawing his thumb from Zayn’s mouth. Zayn rests his head down on Harry’s chest, neck uncomfortably crooked at an odd sort of angle. Harry wraps his arms around Zayn and snuggles him, rubbing his face against the top of his head. Zayn is lulled to sleep by the steady sound of Harry’s heart beat and his fingers brushing lightly through Harry’s curls.

 

They decided to leave for Australia early and island hop for a week. It’s sort of like a honeymoon before Zayn does the Australian leg of his tour. Zayn is just pleased to be away from the rest of the world. It's just him and Harry for a little while. Zayn rents a cabana on some remote island that Liam and his PR team recommended. It’s supposedly super discreet and amazing. Zayn spends the first day sleeping. Time adjustment and all. He has learned the hard way that his biological clock is complete shit at adjusting to new time zones. He feels sort of bad about it, sleeping on their honeymoon, but Harry gets him.

 

Zayn still hasn't learned how to swim, so the whole cabana on a beach thing is more to watch Harry lounging about wearing his tiny swim shorts and getting ludicrously roughed up by the waves. He’s got this one bright yellow pair. Completely ridiculous. Zayn watches Harry from under an umbrella on the beach, as he frolics in the waves and gets pummeled by a few particularly strong ones. They’re out on a boat one day. There’s a cool breeze and Harry insists they both wear zinc on their noses. Harry also convinces Zayn to wear this ridiculous looking headband to make sure his hair stays normal in the wind.

 

“So, I’ve been thinking,” says Harry, after taking a huge bite of an apple. The crunching noise that it makes is loud in Zayn’s ear. He chews for a while and Zayn can’t hear anything but that and the light ocean spray against the hull of the sailboat.

 

“That can’t be too good can it?” Zayn rolls over and rests his head on his hands. He cracks an eye to sneak a look at Harry. Harry’s laying on his back and he’s got a white terry hand towel over his face. He looks like a proper fool. His knees are jauntily spread, sort of frog like. It looks awfully uncomfortable, but Harry’s all into his yoga and pilates so he’s more flexible than Zayn.

 

“Haha very funny, Zayn,” Harry’s voice is muffled by the towel, “I happen to have a university degree. I am a graduate. You on the other hand did not even get to finish your A-levels. Who is the smart one now?”

 

“Out with it then,” Zayn says. He feels boneless and utterly relaxed lying on his front on this random boat in the middle of the ocean. In actuality there’s always this niggling feeling when he’s near bodies of water. In the back of his head, he’s terrified.. Since if he falls off the boat, he’d pretty much drown immediately. And that is just a horrifying thought. His lungs practically caving in. He’s always thought that it's this great irony that he’s sort of terrified of something that covers 70% of the planet and sustains life.

 

“I think I am ready.”

 

“Ready for what? Going off for another swim already then? Has it been a good forty-five minutes since you ate that last banana?” Zayn’s got his eyes closed, but he can sort of make out those little reddish purply colors sparking behind his eyelids. He has never quite understood Harry’s oral fixation and obsession with bananas, but he can certainly appreciate it. Harry is biting his lower lip again, it’s pink and Zayn wants to bite it himself. It’s amazing how long he can spend just staring at Harry. The thing is it’s never dull. The way his face can mold and make the oddest yet somehow still adorable expressions.

 

“To, you know, go public,” Harry shrugs. Zayn feels Harry’s hand on his shoulder blade. It’s warm and comfortable.

 

“Really?” asks Zayn. He switches onto his side so that he is facing Harry. Eyes still practically closed. Harry’s now got the towel off, flung carelessly to the side. He is staring off into the distance. Harry’s expression seems serious and heavy for the moment. Zayn squints at him, it’s so bright out. “Are you quite sure? I don’t mean to rush you or anything, you know.”

 

“I mean it Zayn,” Harry laughs, “I’m ready for all of it.” He makes a vague gesture with his left hand, waving it in the air as if he’s caressing something.

 

“I just, you never tried again for the X-factor, right,” Zayn says.

 

“It wasn’t right for me at the time,” Harry’s brow is crinkled, his lips parted still figuring out what else he’s supposed to say, “And you and Liam you were so amazing. Loads more talented and everything. I knew I wouldn’t make the cut.”

 

“What are you saying?” Zayn is incredulous. “You were the one that was all confident. You were so cute, everyone loved you. Proper star material. Everyone was shocked when you didn’t make the cut. I was, well, I was sad. Thought that was the last I’d ever see of the curly haired baker boy from Holmes Chapel.”

 

“Are you joking?” Harry chuckles, it sounds acrid. He sits up abruptly, rubbing at his forehead and running and hair through his hair. He shakes his head and refuses to face Zayn. “You can’t be serious, Zayn. You were the one all the girls wanted, with that pout and everything. Need we even start talking about your voice? Don’t get all insecure on me now. Clearly since you’re the one whose a million times more likely to get a platinum album, you were always a much better star than I ever could be.”

 

“Harry, I-” Zayn begins, but Harry cuts him off with a rare glare.

 

“I told you I am ready. Now. I know I wasn’t when I was sixteen. And you didn’t know me then, so don’t try to force your boyish preconceived notions on me, Zayn,” Harry sucks in a deep breath and it seems to break any tension that had built up. He turns and smiles slightly at Zayn, “It makes sense if you had a crush on me that you’d, you know, glorify my every move.”

 

“Okay,” says Zayn, “I guess I’ll give my team a call in a while. You know. Let them know the big news.” Harry grins satisfied and then Harry pounces, going to straddle Zayn, who is sort of still on his side. It’s awkward and uncomfortable, his pelvis crushing into the towel clothed area. Harry sort of eases up and lets Zayn shimmy so that he’s on his back. Harry slaps both hands on either side of Zayn’s head. He’s squinting down at Zayn, expression crinkled. After a beat he strokes the side of Zayn’s face letting his fingers linger on Zayn’s brow. Zayn sighs and closes his eyes. He lets Harry continue his perusal of his face. Gentle brushes of his fingertips and light kisses. Zayn can’t help but feel uneasy about Harry’s recent admission.

 

“You worry too much,” Harry says, placing a kiss on one of Zayn’s eyelids and then the other. Then another to the middle of Zayn’s forehead. Harry’s breath is warm on Zayn’s cheek. “You don’t have to worry about anything. Or me. I mean more than the necessary amount. I said I was ready.”

 

“You’re sure then?” Zayn tries to open his eyes, but it’s too bright. Instead he feels blindly for Harry’s face, hands, any body part. He ends up gripping onto one of Harry’s love handles. It’s fleshy and warm and Zayn has become very accustomed to play with them, despite Harry’s minor protests. Harry makes a strange half gurgling half snorting noise. The wind is soon knocked out of Zayn as Harry collapses onto his chest, unable to hold himself up under Zayn’s tickling ministrations. “You’re ridiculous,” Zayn wheezes. Pats at the meat on Harry’s shoulder. It’s warm to the touch. “Want me to reapply some sun lotion?”

 

“Sounds perfect,” Harry all but purrs, “Then after let’s fuck on the boat, yes?”

 

…

 

Zayn feels amazing walking off stage. His sweaty shirt is clinging to his back, the rushing noise in his ears, his vision blurring and incredibly dark as he moves from the lit stage into the corridors towards his dressing room. His phone is buzzing off the handle. Congratulations on a great show from some Australian reporters, how they got his number is beyond him. He flicks through all the messages to come upon Harry’s. He looks through them, they’re nearly twenty. It’s like Harry was live texting the entire show. The use of emojis is incredible and frequent. Harry is waiting for him in a car outside in the alley.

 

“Do you ever get tired of it?” asks Harry when he opens the car door. He is chewing loudly on some sort of citrus fruit. He’s sitting in the back of the van, knees knocking against each other, a wily sort of look on his face. Zayn’s never knackered, not one bit after his shows. With the rush of adrenaline, he’s still buzzing for hours and hours after his shows. More than anything Zayn just wants to go out and go crazy and fuck Harry and tell the entire world that he and Harry are married. The announcement is not going out for a while more. They plan to announce it before the Brit Awards. Harry’s agreed to walk the red carpet. Zayn knows he’ll be completely amazing, dressed by Caroline Watson.

 

“Tired of what, babe?” asks Zayn. He skims his hand over the curve of Harry’s neck, loves the fluttering of Harry’s pulse. Zayn’s skin is buzzing, simmering underneath the surface, like an entire beehive is pulsing and alive. It’s not itchy like one might think, more like being satisfied, he feels alive. He used to dislike it, early on. But now it’s come to be one of his most favorite feelings in the world.  Seeing Harry only seems to make it worse. It is almost as if he is drunk, liquored up by the thought, no the reality of having everything he’s ever wanted all in this one moment. He near flings himself at Harry, taking in his smell. The warm, sunshine, freshly cut grass and this sort of vanilla that curls into his nose, like the countryside and a bakery and the tinge of citrus that Zayn licks from Harry’s mouth.

 

“Geez, you are all up after the show?” Harry squeezes Zayn’s growing erection. Zayn groans, bucking up into Harry’s palm. “And I wanted to ask you about, like, the shows and stuff, but I guess you’ve—mmprhe—,” Zayn silences Harry with a kiss, the citrus is refreshing and weird, a mix of nicotine and orange flavor mingling on Zayn’s tongue. Zayn grinds down on Harry. He use to fear that it would get old, if he was with someone for a really long time. The way his parents treat each other, they seem to orbit further and further away from one another. But with Harry he does not get tired and that frightens him more.

 

“I’ve always wanted to do this,” Zayn gasps, taking Harry’s hair into one of his hands, and pulling lightly back to expose his neck. He licks up the side of it, and bites down near the jugular vein. “Wreck you after a show, that is,” he clarifies before ripping at Harry’s shirt. A few of the buttons pop causing Harry to growl in shock and probably anger which in turn only serves to fuel Zayn’s arousal. Their relationship has been so touch and go before the past few months. Zayn thinks that the last time Harry even came to a show was back before they even were together.

 

“Yeah? What’d you want to do?” asks Harry, his breathing is growing harsher and faster as Zayn nips down his chest. Zayn pauses right above Harry’s navel before nosing into it, inhaling the musky smell. He runs a hand over Harry’s hipbone over the stupid fern tattoos, and Harry responds with a full body shudder at that. "Are we really doing this right here?" Harry asks his voice has a tremor in it, the nerves perhaps or just raw excitement. 

 

"What are you afraid of?" Zayn bites down on the fleshy part of Harry's hip. Harry squeals and bucks forward almost kneeing Zayn in the face. "Getting caught?" Zayn punctuates the question by grabbing a handful of Harry. Harry slaps at him with his hands, flailing motions. 

 

"I mean, a little, but I like this, you're so," Harry half moans half laughs, "You're so spontaneous, it's exciting!" He grips onto Zayn's shoulders and begins to hoist him upwards. Zayn doesn't come up though. 

 

“I am going to ride you,” Zayn says. He reaches down to find Harry’s wrists and raises them above his head. Zayn holds them in one hand, wrapping one of Harry’s headscarves around his wrists. He cinches it to a comfortable tightness, not tight enough to cut off circulation or anything, but there’s certainly no escape. “You see, I’ve looked up some stuff,” Zayn explains, “Like I now know how to tie a proper knot and stuff.”

 

“Get on with it then, ride me,” Harry whines impatiently. His hips stuttering upwards, seeking Zayn out. Harry has got this great big pout on his face, bottom lip stuck out like an invitation. Zayn leans in and bites his bottom lip gently, not to ever draw blood. Harry groans, it comes out muffled against Zayn’s mouth. “Come on, husband, do your job,” Harry nearly lifts out of the van seat, knocking Zayn’s head against the gray padded ceiling. He winces slightly and bears down more fiercely than before, taking care to pin Harry’s bound hands to the back seat of the van. Harry’s look is fierce, the green of his eyes are alight with something darker, more primal, instinctual even. Harry rolls his hips slowly trying to unnerve Zayn. Zayn nearly grins, but manages to pull a serious face.

 

“Patience.” Zayn sinks to his knees on the floor between Harry’s legs. He pulls the zip (thank god it is not a button fly today) down with his teeth. Harry’s cock flops out, slapping up against his belly. “No pants again?” Zayn should not be surprised at this point. But somehow he always is. Harry might be about to make an answer but that is lost when Zayn swallows his cock whole. Tears prick up in Zayn’s eyes when the tip hits the back of his throat. Then Zayn’s withdraws completely, Harry’s cock slips from his mouth with a pop. He looks up with an ‘oh me’ sort of expression on his face.

 

When Zayn finally gets Harry’s cock inside him, he’s achingly hard and leaking all over his lower abdomen. Harry’s is biting his own lip, trying to keep from making too much noise. The divider is up and Zayn reckons the van is pretty soundproof. But he knows that Harry is not too keen on being found out. Zayn will probably just tip the driver extra at the end anyways. Zayn takes his own dick in his hand as he lowers onto Harry, slowly. The van hits a bump and the slow approach is abandoned as Harry is fully seated. The ride is a flurry of curses and nearly tipping over and falling and Harry’s muffled groans and Zayn trying too hard to not come too quickly. They lay panting in the backseat of the van for a few minutes before they arrive at the hotel. Zayn is coming down, his heart rate slowing, and his eyelids feel a little heavy. “I’m glad we got married,” Zayn says after peaking to see if Harry’s still awake. He is. Leaning against the window, his breath slowly fogging up a small circle on the glass.

 

“Me too,” Harry says, tracing a heart on the glass. “More than glad. Aren’t you supposed to be a poet? I would have thought you’d have better words to describe this marriage.” Zayn grins, the heart that Harry traced is the exact same one he wears over his hipbone, his appendix. The one that matches Harry’s, the splash of ink on his right arm. It was sort of accidental, the matching tattoos. They had wanted to get matching ones but the hearts seemed cheesy, even for Harry. Not that anyone really ever saw Zayn’s heart tattoo. They have other pseudo matching ones, the ones they got during that crazy first week of them being in a proper relationship. The birds on Harry's chest that match the small one on his right hand. It seems like that was all long ago.

 

“So, is the post-show sex always going to be this good?” Harry says when the van comes to a stop at the hotel. Zayn waggles his eyebrows and winks. “That’s not a very good answer now is it?” Zayn just squeezes Harry’s bum as he makes his way out of the car.

 

A few weeks later, Zayn is pacing in the ready room. Harry’s getting his make up done. Lou Teasdale who had actually done his makeup back on the X-factor is powdeirng his nose with great strokes of a giant brush. It’s comical how Harry’s nose scrunches up like a small bunny and how he laughs as she pats at his eyelids. Caroline has outfitted them in black and white. Harry dons a black button up with white hearts on them and a jacket over it. He still somehow manages to wear the tightest of black trousers. Zayn is wearing this strange sort of overcoat, that nearly goes down past his knees. Underneath the coat is this leather vest type thing. Zayn isn’t really sure, but he thinks they look quite posh and dapper. It’s certainly a different look than his normal wardrobe, which mostly consists of t-shirts, snapbacks, and doc martens, although he’s still wearing doc martens with this.

 

“Zayn,” Harry calls, reaching his arms out from his make up chair, “Come take a picture with me, Zayn!” Zayn scurries over phone in hand. They take a selfie, pressing their cheeks together. Zayn’s afraid his face might split in half. Harry looks a tad nervous. His cheeks are slightly flushed and his leg is jiggling slightly, foot tapping. It reminds Zayn of the first time they met. Except their positions were reversed. Zayn had been nearly sick to his stomach since his future was about to change forever. And now Harry here is in the same position. Or a similar one. Zayn knows that Harry was once bitter about losing, but that now it has mostly disappeared. The announcement on the other hand is going to be groundbreaking. At least that is what Zayn's team has convinced themselves. He and Harry are already man and man, but this is different somehow. It’s the acknowledgement of their relationship. It’s sort of like Zayn coming out all over again. He expects that they will be met with a lot of backlash, but he knows it will all be worth it. Plus for the first time in many years, Zayn will not be living a lie or under any pretenses, he can truly be himself. 

 

“So are you ready, babe?” Zayn presses a quick kiss to Harry’s temple. Harry nods. It is their first red carpet event after all. They haven’t even done a proper interview yet, one on television or even the radio. But they are scheduled to do a few quick ones on the carpet here today. It’s crazy for Zayn to think that he’ll be able to freely say that Harry is his husband. It is the Brits and Zayn is even nominated for the British Breakthrough Award. Which surprises absolutely no one except for Zayn. Apparently his most recent single has been blowing up everywhere and the UK was not an exception. Zayn really doesn’t read up too much on his increasing celebrity. He tries to keep a level head and not get too sucked into the crazy that is reading articles and reviews of his music, or worse, his image.

 

“The question is, are you ready?” Harry raises his brows at Zayn. “It’s not everyday that my husband wins a Brit.” Harry comes to standing and grabs onto Zayn’s hand, squeezing it three times. Harry pinches at the very little chub he can grab on Zayn’s cheek. In the background he can see Liam and Louis arriving to get all setup for the awards show. Louis looks as if he has just rolled out of bed, his hair up at odd ends. Liam is the same as always, hand curled protectively around Louis’ waist. Although Zayn is pretty sure Louis is infinitely more protective and combative than Liam is. The pair of them wave. They are like the darlings of Britain right now. Liam and his effervescent songwriter/life partner. Niall is flitting about somewhere. He's probably working sound at the show, he's got friends in high places after all. Zayn listened to him monologue about the girl(s) he fucked in the previous days, promising them tickets to the Brits, and how he was up all night rigging the sound system especially for Zayn's performance that night. Zayn hadn't even thought much about it at this point. That was definitely a come down from he and Harry walking the carpet together.

 

“It’s not just my life that’s, you know, about to be exposed for the world to see,” says Zayn, eying the small tremor in Harry’s movements. As Harry fiddles with one of his curls, stretching it down and then letting it go. It releases and sort of humorously snaps back to slap against Harry’s cheek.

 

“I’d say something maudlin like nothing is too much when I’m with you,” begins Harry, voice low, “But it will just take time to get used to it, yeah.” He smiles brightly and it hits Zayn like an arrow, running straight through his gut. He reaches over and pulls Harry down to his level by the head, gripping at his hair. Zayn's not about to get on his tip toes, he's an adult. Their noses brush together as Zayn runs his tongue over Harry's bottom lip. They kiss sloppily for a moment. Before the tutting of Caroline breaks them apart. She mumbles something unintelligible about the state of Harry's hair. 

 

“Let’s go then,” Zayn says. Caroline throws his jacket into his arms. She instructs him to not wear it until he's on the carpet, complaining about how he always ruins clothing by rumpling it up and how he better not even think about messing about with Harry in the limo. Zayn makes no promises. 

 

The limo ride to the red carpet is short but the traffic is just horrifying. Zayn is set to arrive sort of late in the appearances. Thank god, he absolutely feels like an idiot just standing around making useless conversation and having his photo taken repeatedly by a few thousand flashing cameras. The first time he even went to an award show he nearly could not see for the first half of the show. The flash can be extremely blinding. He sucks in a deep breath. He feels just about as nervous now as he was before his first shows.

 

They finally pull up to the place. Zayn can hear the roar of the crowd, the anticipation, who is in this limo. The door is opened and he and Harry step out onto the red carpet, hands clasped together.

 ...

fin

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I tried to keep it fluffier but I never know.


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